Sparks Among the Stars
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: The Allspark has found its way into humanity's hands... but not the humans of Earth. Instead, Optimus Prime and Megatron's desperate race to find the artifact brings their war to a galaxy far, far away...
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

The moment you've all been waiting for (or perhaps loathing, I dunno) - the oft-threatened Transformers/Star Wars crossover!

This is my first multi-chapter foray into the live-action TF universe, and I haven't written a _Star Wars_ fic in over a decade, so please have a little patience with me while I get back into the groove of things. Though in a way it's refreshing to revisit a universe I used to play in a LOT as a fledgling fanfic writer. And kind of neat playing around in the live-action universe too.

I'm using the 2007 Transformers movie as a basis for the main plot, and pretty much ignoring the concepts of the rest of the series save certain characters. I'll also be mostly ignoring the Star Wars Expanded Universe as I go, though Disney did most of that work for me by jettisoning most of that already...

Opening segment comes from Optimus Prime's opening monologue in the 2007 movie. Captain Niven and Lieutenant Crispin are named after science fiction authors Larry Niven (best known for _Ringworld_ and _The Mote in God's Eye_ ) and A. C. Crispin (who, incidentally, wrote the _Han Solo Trilogy_ ).

Stay tuned for more! If nothing else, this should be a fun ride.

* * *

 _Before our time began… there was the Cube._

 _We know not where it comes from – only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them with life. That is how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony. But like all great power, some wanted it for good… others for evil._

 _And so began the war – a war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death… and the Cube was lost to the far reaches of space._

 _We scattered across the cosmos, hoping to find it and rebuild our lost home. Searching every star, every world… and just when all hope seemed lost, message of a new discovery drew us to an unknown planet called… Tatooine._

 _But… we were already too late._

* * *

Twin suns shone down on an endless ocean of rolling dunes with pitiless clarity, illuminating the red-gold sands and hard blue sky with such brilliance it was difficult to look at either for too long. Heat rippled the horizon in all directions, and an insistent wind burned more than it cooled, stirring the blazing air about without dropping its temperature by so much as a degree. A scuttling insect, the only sign of life in the blistering landscape, wriggled out of the sand and peered about with tiny compound eyes, then squirmed its way back underground as if deciding the action hadn't been worth the bother.

The searing tranquility was broken only minutes later as a gray-green beast hauled itself over a dune, bawling unhappily as its rider prodded it in the side. The dewback plodded over the crest and down the side of the frozen wave of sand, leading a squad of soldiers whose white armor had gone nearly tan from the sand and sun. Said soldiers fanned out and made their way down the shifting hill, sinking ankle-deep with every step, visored gazes sweeping the desert.

The dewback snorted and turned back the way it had came, as if assuming the stormtroopers had this matter well in hand and it wasn't needed anymore. Captain Niven prodded the creature behind one tiny earhole, and it grumbled irritably but continued down the slope.

"Spread out," he ordered. "Cover the entire quadrant. Report back with anything interesting, even if it's just a cactus that looks out of place. We're taking no chances."

"Copy, sir," Lieutenant Crispin, his second-in-command, replied.

Niven watched as Crispin and the rest of the group scattered upon the sands. He would never admit it aloud – not to his men, and especially not to his superiors – but he doubted his squad would find that wayward escape pod anytime soon. The coordinates they worked with had been maddeningly vague, giving them dozens of square kilometers of sand to tromp through. And without a life form in the pod to track and with metal detectors rendered useless by centuries worth of shipwrecks and abandoned vehicles and droids littering this husk of a world, that left searching on foot. Which could take weeks, even with multiple teams dispatched to comb the desert.

 _Not that we have weeks,_ he thought darkly, gaze flicking toward the sky. The _Devastator_ would be long gone by now, but Lord Vader's specter still hung over them. He would know of Niven's failure, and he had no illusions as to what fate would lay in store for him if they didn't find the pod very soon.

The dewback had paused to nose something interesting in the sand – a pile of bantha dung from the look of it – but it honked and kept moving as he dug his heels into its sides. They would search diligently, even if the cause was hopeless. Perhaps they would get lucky and happen upon the pod and its contraband cargo. Perhaps Lord Vader would be understanding if they strove with all their might, even if the search came up fruitless.

 _Perhaps shaak will sprout wings and fly._

His cynical musings were cut short by a shout from the far end of the "valley" created by two massive dunes. "We found something!"

Niven felt himself perk up just slightly, and he nudged the dewback forward. Luck was on their side after all. Unless the idiots that made up most of his squad had just found a caravan of Jawas or something else inconsequential… but he doubted that even they would call his attention to anything unimportant.

His mount crested the second dune, and man and beast found themselves overlooking a flat expanse of sand littered with chunks of twisted, half-buried metal. A three-meter spear of pitted, corroded steel jutted out of the sand five meters away, like the fin of some predatory fish. Up ahead, several troopers were clearing silt away from a jagged wreck that gleamed dully in the twin suns.

 _Not the escape pod, then,_ he sighed. _But then again… not any ship I'm familiar with. Not unless the Rebellion is in such dire straits that they're welding random scrap together to build their starfighters… and this thing looks ancient, as if it hasn't flown in decades…_

The dewback bellowed and shuffled back from the wreck, spine arched like a tusk-cat confronting a rival pride. Niven cursed and whacked the beast with his prod, but it continued to back away, howling its displeasure. No amount of kicking or jabbing could coax it another step forward.

"Dumb animal," he growled, sliding down from its back. He managed to haul it as far as the steel spike, where he lashed its reins to the metal and left it there while he trekked the rest of the way on foot.

Lieutenant Crispin had a holorecorder raised, carefully taking images of the derelict, while other troops surveyed the wreck for any signs of life. Niven stood beside his subordinate officer as he took in the sight more closely. Dull silver and pitted with age and exposure, it looked like a motley assortment of metal scraps cobbled together into a rough approximation of a one-man starcraft. Oddly, he could see no sign of a cockpit, nor any damage to indicate that there had ever been one. And it bore no sigils that he was familiar with – not the Imperial crest or the Rebel phoenix, not even the outdated insignia of the Old Republic or the ancient markings of the Sith Wars. A private craft, perhaps?

"Never seen anything like it," Crispin noted. "Custom job, you think?"

"Would almost have to be," Niven replied. "No manufacturer in his right mind would design something so ugly." He approached what he assumed to be the bow of the craft, brushing his hand over the metal. Grime came away on his gloved fingers, revealing a sharp angular crest with triangular eyes glaring out of an almost beak-like face.

"Any idea how old this wreck is?" he asked.

Crispin shook his helmeted head. "Could be years, could be centuries. It's been buried a long time. I'm going to guess a recent storm uncovered it."

Niven nodded. "Have you reported this to Lord Vader yet?" It wasn't an escape pod, but it was definitely an unknown ship with suspicious markings. Better to play it safe and inform the Sith Lord, even if it amounted to nothing in the end.

"I was about to." Crispin thumbed the recorder back on, catching an image of the crest Niven had uncovered.

"Don't wait too long. This thing could save our necks if we end up not finding that escape pod."

"The tech inside is spectacular," Crispin noted, a hint of boyish glee in his voice even as he ignored Niven's warning. "You should have a look. Even as old as this thing is, its cutting-edge tech… whoever designed it was way ahead of their time!"

"In that case, Lord Vader's REALLY going to want this," Niven replied. "You know how he is about any new technology…"

The dewback howled and yanked at its reins, rearing up on its hind legs in agitation.

"For stars' sake, what's wrong with you?" Niven growled, turning toward the beast.

Crispin made a sound as if about to reply… but whatever he had to offer, Niven would never know. For the world shattered at that moment.

Stormtroopers fell back from the wreckage as it lurched, crusted dirt and rust falling from it in thin streams. Niven stumbled back, his gaze moving instantly to his feet. Quicksand? Sinkhole? Sarlaac? Probably sinkhole, sarlaacs were thankfully rare and there was virtually no possibility of quicksand suddenly springing up beneath a decades-old shipwreck…

The dewback screamed its terror to the skies as the ship lurched again, hauling itself upright. Niven and Crispin watched in horror as it split open before their eyes, unfolding like some hideous metallic flower. Plating and internal components shifted and reconfigured themselves, revealing limbs, digits, a lump of fragmented metal that looked almost like a head…

 _By the bones of the Whills,_ Niven thought, before all thought was flushed from his mind by a surge of panic.

Crispin, unlike his superior, kept his head. "Shoot it down! Now!"

The squad obeyed, and scarlet light flashed as they opened fire on the metallic giant. Bright red optical sensors flared to life as if in response, and the creature seemed almost to flinch as bolts of superheated plasma impacted against its plating. It hunched its broad shoulders, slabs of steel almost like wings folding low over its back in an effort to protect itself. Thin plates of metal peeled back from its face, revealing spikes of iron that looked almost like fangs in an approximation of an angry snarl.

 _Some new assassin droid,_ Niven thought, his brain scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. _Cleverly designed to disguise itself as a shipwreck. But who in their right minds would build a droid so HUGE? And so monstrous?_

The droid – if that's what it truly was – slashed out with a clawed hand, knocking several troopers over. Two scrambled to their feet and kept firing, while a third writhed and gripped the gash that split the armor covering his torso, crimson spattering the dusty white. Two more lay still and silent.

"Get the cannon!" Crispin shouted, shoving at Niven. "Captain! CAPTAIN!"

Niven shook his head, trying desperately to slough off his panic. He turned and bolted for the dewback, angling for the heavy pack containing the dismantled cannon.

He never reached it. The mechanical giant raised one clawed arm, the limb's parts sliding apart and locking into a new shape – something a civilization still reliant on projectile weapons might call a gatling gun. The weapon rattled, unleashing a hail of metallic bullets… and Niven went down, the gold sand beneath him staining red.

Crispin lunged for the cannon, but the smell of blood and hot metal had finally driven the dewback into unquenchable panic. It snapped its reins and bolted, moaning in fear, leaving behind a trail of dust clouds.

The Lieutenant turned back to the creature… just in time to see a massive foot, split down the middle like a cloven hoof, come down on top of him.

* * *

Once the mech had dispatched the pests that had roused him from stasis, he wiped his claws in the sand and squinted into the sky. Binary star system, carbon-and-oxygen-based planet that somehow boasted life despite the harsh conditions… this was the world he had come for. This was his destination.

So close… he was so close. But victory was not yet within his grasp. It was one thing to narrow the search down to one world out of millions, quite another to actually search the many nooks and crannies on said world. What he sought could be anywhere… and worse, the natives could have found it by now. The thought of disgusting organics fouling the artifact with their greasy paws turned his fuel tanks.

But he had waited half a century for some foolish sentient to awaken him… he could be patient a little longer.

A gleam of sunlight on metal caught his attention, and he strode over the dune to investigate. A shuttle of some kind, no doubt the vehicle belonging to those armored pests. It was pathetically armed and hideously ugly by his kind's standards, but it would do for now.

It was the work of less than a minute to scan the shuttle, and to reconfigure his frame to accept it as an alt mode. At the end of the process, two identical shuttles sat side by side in Tatooine's sands, wings folded over their backs like gigantic metal butterflies.

But only one shuttle rose into the air and soared toward the horizon, leaving its brother to the desert scavengers as Starscream continued his search.


	2. Bike and Cube

Luke Skywalker had never been this far from the homestead before… and perhaps another farmboy might have been excited by this knowledge. Instead he felt only disgust. It wasn't as if he were going someplace truly exotic, as the major cities on Tatooine (if such a backwater world could even have major cities) didn't differ much from one another. And when most young men his age had been offworld at least once, saying that you'd taken a day trip to Mos Eisley seemed pretty pathetic in comparison.

All this he kept to himself as he walked after Owen Lars, doing his best to school his face into an expression that was, if not excited, at least somewhat neutral. Uncle Owen was doing him a great favor taking him this far to buy a new vehicle – he didn't want to seem TOO ungrateful by sulking the entire way.

"Remember, don't make eye contact with anyone except the seller," Owen advised, sidestepping to ensure his credit pouch stayed out of the reach of a passing Jawa. "Don't give anything to panhandlers either – it only encourages them. And for stars' sake, let me do the talking! They'll try to rip you off if you try negotiating the price."

"I've watched Aunt Beru haggling in the Anchorhead marketplace," Luke defended. "I've picked up a few of her tricks."

"That's Anchorhead," Owen retorted. "Mos Eisley shopkeepers are another breed entirely. Watch your belt pouch – don't want its contents walking off, do you?"

Luke sighed and trailed after the older man as they approached the used-speeder lot at the edge of town. As if to add insult to injury, they weren't even going into the city proper. How could you properly say you'd been to one of the more infamous cities on this planet when you didn't even go past the Imperial patrols at the borders?

 _Don't work yourself up over this,_ he told himself. _Your uncle's doing you a favor, taking you out to buy a new speeder. Or a "new" one, I guess… anyhow, stop acting like an ungrateful brat or he'll probably just drag you back home._

He still wasn't sure why they had to make the half-day drive clear to Mos Eisley to buy a vehicle anyhow. Uncle Owen claimed it was "cheaper," that the dealers in this city were less likely to jack up prices or add ridiculous extra charges to an otherwise low price, and as such made it worth the drive. Beru had pointed out that any money saved by coming out this far would be mostly eaten up in fuel costs for the trip there and back, and Luke was inclined to agree with her, but Owen was stubborn and refused to change his mind.

"Here we are," Owen announced, quite unnecessarily given that they were standing between two landspeeders in various stages of repair and looking on several more. "Take a look around, find one you like that's within our price range. And try to pick one that'll survive a collision with a woodoo this time, all right?"

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" Luke groaned.

Owen cracked a rare smile. "You wouldn't be the first kid to wreck a speeder by hitting an animal, and you won't be the last. Just don't repeat that stunt too often." And he cupped his hands over his mouth to amplify his voice. "Hey Delgo! I know you're out here!"

A rasping, guttural voice shouted something back in Huttese, and a winged alien rose up from behind a forest-green hoverbike and drifted closer. Pot-bellied and stumpy-legged, with faded blue skin and a drooping nose sagging over a snaggle-toothed mouth and bristly beard, he was a grungy sight even for a Toydarian. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Owen, but he put on a wide grin anyhow.

"Owen Lars!" he exclaimed. "It's been ages! Was beginnin' to think you'd never come back, eh? How's the missus?"

"You're not good at turning on the charm, Delgo," Lars retorted. "I'm just here to purchase a speeder for my nephew."

"Aah, the boy's first vehicle, eh?" Delgo noted, floating forward to look Luke up and down. "We can find somethin' the boy likes, eh? Somethin' flashy to impress the girls." This close he smelled badly, and Luke couldn't hide a grimace.

"He doesn't need flashy," Owen insisted. "Just something that can get him from Point A to Point B without breaking down in between. Preferably something that can carry a passenger or some supplies as well."

"Oh?" Delgo gave a guttural laugh. "If it's the boy's first speeder, why not let him pick what HE wants! Mebbe the boy wants somethin' with a lil' more power to it, eh? Or with a lil' flash?"

"It's not his first speeder, and given that I'm the one footing the bill…"

While his uncle bickered with the Toydarian, Luke took a minute to wander among the landspeeders, hoverbikes, and hovercars that cluttered the lot. Most of them had seen much better days… but then, any vehicle purchased used on Tatooine was going to look like it had been pushed down a cliff. The trick was going to be to find one that might look like an utter piece of junk on the outside but had a sound engine underneath. And despite Delgo's suggestion that he wanted something fancy, Luke just wanted a speeder that worked well and wouldn't stall out and die every kilometer. Though something fast wouldn't hurt…

He paused before a dingy yellow landspeeder with black markings, popping open the hood to get a better look inside. Quite a few dealers, he knew, actively discouraged customers from actually looking at the engines – all the better to unload a questionable vehicle onto an unsuspecting buyer, after all. But with Uncle Owen distracting Delgo with banter, there was no one to stop Luke from looking a little deeper.

 _Ugh… what a piece of junk._ He slammed the hood down on the yellow speeder, blowing out a sigh. Not a bad model, but someone had been trying to customize the engine and had left the inside a jury-rigged mess of parts. He was positive it wouldn't get more than a few hundred meters from the lot before something important exploded…

Something shifted in the corner of his vision, and he jerked his head around. Did Delgo have a business partner or employee? Or was someone trying to pickpocket him?

Neither, it turned out. There was nobody behind him, just three vehicles – a fancy hovercar that looked as if someone had set it on fire at some point, a chunky military-style speederbike…

 _Wait… was that one there before? I could have sworn it wasn't just a minute ago…_

He drew away from the yellow speeder and cautiously approached the new bike. It was nothing like the military brick beside it – it was all sweeping, elegant curves, designed for raw speed and power. It was a rich, vibrant purple, the color of ripe cactus fruit, and if its paint was liberally chipped and worn, its panels dented with wear… well, it was still in far better shape than most of the vehicles in this lot. And even better, it looked equipped to handle two passengers, or one passenger and a bag of tools, as well as bearing a slot to install a sidecar at some point.

 _Is this the new Vita-50X model?_ he wondered, running a hand over the prow. _It sure looks like it. Fixer said they were coming out with a new one, but I had no idea any had made it to this hunk of rock. Wonder how much it costs…_

He thumbed a little dust off an oddly-shaped logo on the prow – one that looked almost like a stylized face – before curling his fingers under a panel. Better check the engine – it was entirely possible someone had dumped this one here after gutting it for parts…

"Ow!" He yanked his hand back as a jolt of pain stabbed down his arm. What was that? He hadn't cut himself, there wasn't blood… maybe he'd grabbed a loose wire?

"Luke, what'd you find?" Owen walked up and gave the bike a critical look. "No. The answer's no. We can't afford it and it's not practical for the farm."

"Ah, your boy has fine taste!" Delgo noted, voice brimming with pleasure. "Only the finest of the Vita line for him, eh? An' you're in luck, this one just came in! Yours for the low price of… uh… hmmm…" He poked at his chin with a knobby finger, clearly stumped. "Peedee! Peedee, get out here!"

A dome-shaped head mounted atop a comically scrawny body popped out of an engine block, uttering a questioning trill.

"How much is this bike anyhow?"

The pit droid spat back a string of beeping and honking.

"Whaddaya mean you never seen it before? It's your job to fix 'em when they come in! You slackin' off on me again? Do I hafta scrap you?"

Luke ran his thumb over the crest again. "Uncle Owen, I can make it work," he insisted. "See, it's got space for a passenger, and I can always attach a sidecar to carry equipment."

"I don't like the thought of you tearing around Anchorhead on a fancy hopped-up hoverbike," Owen insisted. "Besides, look how gaudy this thing is! It's practically bait for a thief."

"I'll take care of it," he insisted. "I'll even pay you back for it, okay? Buy it myself."

"With what, your Academy funds?" Owen shook his head. "I come here to buy you a used landspeeder and you pick a racing bike. Here I thought I raised you to be practical."

"Come on, Uncle Owen," he pleaded. "I can make it work. And if it gets stolen, I'll pay you back."

"You really have your heart set on this?"

Luke nodded. He wasn't sure what had caught his eye about the bike, but now that he'd seen it, he was hooked. Besides, a bike would be much faster than a speeder, enabling him to check the vaporators and make supply runs into Anchorhead a lot more quickly. Not to mention what the other kids and the farmhands would think when they saw his new ride…

Owen sighed. "I still think it's a stupid waste of credits. But I know what your aunt would say, that you're only young once."

"So the boy's made his decision?" Delgo asked, flapping closer, his argument with the pit droid apparently resolved to his satisfaction. "Excellent! That'll be three thousand."

Owen scowled. "I won't go above two thousand."

"Bah." Delgo waved a dismissive hand at the farmer. "Then take your business elsewhere! This is a quality machine! You're not gonna find a Vita-class in this gooda shape anywhere else, I promise you that!"

"Two thousand," Owen snapped. "Any more than that is extortion."

"Twenty-five hundred," Delgo retorted. "I'm cutting my own throat here!"

"Two thousand is more than you deserve for this," Owen shot back. "Knowing you, it's probably stolen."

"You insult my honor, you wretched eopie-wrangler?!"

Luke groaned. His uncle's version of haggling was to pick a price that suited him and refuse to budge from it, until whichever merchant he was dealing with either caved in or banned him from the premises. Which was why he rarely did any of the shopping for the farm or the homestead anymore. At least Beru was willing to compromise… why hadn't she taken him shopping for a new landspeeder instead? Though she never would have gone as far as Mos Eisley to shop for one either, which meant he never would have seen the Vita…

Something nudged against his hand, and he looked down to see that a panel in the bike's dashboard had popped open. Curious, he peeked inside the compartment… and felt his jaw drop. No way… this was way too good to be true…

"I'll not go a chit below twenty-five hundred!" Delgo shouted.

"Then we'll just take our business elsewhere." Owen turned to storm off.

"Uncle Owen, wait!" Luke dug the stack of credit chips out of the compartment. "I can pay the difference!"

Owen frowned. "I thought you didn't bring any-"

"You pay the two thousand and I'll pay the five hundred," he insisted, and pressed five hundred-credit chips into his uncle's hand. "Deal?"

Owen scowled at the money in his palm, and Luke silently willed him to not ask him where the money had come from. The last thing he needed to hear was that the last owner of the bike had practically paid them to purchase it from another buyer. _Please don't ask, please just go along with this…_

"Deal," Owen said at last, his voice curiously flat. "I pay the two thousand and you pay the five hundred."

"Excellent." Delgo rubbed his gnarled hands together with a grin. "The boy at least is reasonable. Pleasure doing business with you two."

Owen blinked, shaking his head. He muttered to himself and turned to face the Toydarian, digging into his own belt pouch for the rest of the cash.

Luke just grinned and climbed aboard the bike, settling himself in the seat. He felt curiously exposed, straddling the chassis of the vehicle rather than nestled comfortably inside it, but there was a strange thrill to it too, like mounting some exotic steed. He fired it up, grinning at the alto roar of the engine, the hum of the antigravs, the rumble of the stabilizers kicking in…

The face-like crest stared up at him from the steering column, replacing his excitement with curiosity. That wasn't the logo for the Vita company… some personal mark of the last owner? No matter – he could always pry it off and replace it with something more fitting later. For now he just wanted to get his new ride home… and maybe show it off to his friends. Too bad Biggs had already gone back to the Academy… he would have gotten a kick out of this.

* * *

It was times like this when Artoo Detoo wished he had normal legs.

The white-and-blue droid let out a string of beeps that roughly translated to a curse as his treads struck a half-buried boulder, almost knocking him over. Astromechs had been designed for spacecraft, equipped with magnetic treaded feet perfect for gliding over the smooth hull of a ship and a stocky barrel-shaped torso for holding equipment and tools for any repair or maintenance imaginable. The same build that made him able to zip about a starship at ease, however, made him clumsy and slow on just about any other terrain.

Such as a rocky, barren, completely uneven canyon floor in the middle of a Maker-forsaken desert.

Artoo blatted another Binary expletive as a cascade of pebbles rained down from the side of the canyon, clanging against his dome. He knew perfectly well what he was doing out here – finding the General so he could turn the Death Star plans over to him. The princess had given him orders, and he was determined to keep them, even if it meant having to abandon Threepio in order to do it. The fate of worlds was resting on his… could he even call them shoulders? Joints, at least.

It had all seemed so heroic, bringing back memory data from his adventures in the past. But he hadn't stopped to process that heroics were usually one percent excitement and ninety-nine percent sheer unpleasantness.

 _This would be so much more tolerable if Threepio had come with me,_ he mused. _He's generally not terribly useful, but he's good company at least… and would have come in handy if the General doesn't know Binary…_

He drew to a halt, giving a soft drone of confusion. His scanners were picking up unusual energy readings from somewhere close by. There also seemed to be a pack of life forms up ahead, but he couldn't quite make out what they were. Possibly just animals… but also possibly sentients of some kind, who would love nothing better than to snap up a wayward droid for their own use. Maybe even Jawas – his databanks held information on their kind, and what he had seen in his last perusal of that data had sent shivers through his sensory nodes.

It was the energy that interested him more at the moment. An energy source could mean any number of things, from a crashed ship with a leaky reactor to nuclear material uncovered by an earthquake… but it could also signal the habitat of a sentient creature. Perhaps General Kenobi had set up shop in this desolate canyon and brought in a power generator? Why anyone would choose to live here was beyond his capacity to compute, but then, organics were strange in their ways.

He trundled up to a fissure in the canyon wall where the energy output seemed strongest. If Kenobi really was in here, at least he'd shown a modicum of sense by utilizing a naturally occurring cave as his shelter rather than wasting energy in carving one out himself. From what his memory banks recalled of the General, he was one of the more intelligent specimens of his kind, so that was a strong possibility.

The odds that Kenobi was responsible for the energy readings shrank as he made his way further into the cave. No sane human would have left all this rubble on the floor, for one thing – they would have shoveled the stuff out, or at least blasted the narrower bits of the passage a little wider to make travel in and out easier. Artoo finally had to switch to his bipedal mode and shuffle awkwardly over the floor, and even then he nearly fell over several times. He'd better get a good oil bath and dent-repair session when this was all over.

He'd traveled nearly a kilometer into the reaches of the tunnel, he estimated, when it suddenly widened into a cavern. He paused at the threshold of the underground chamber, a soft coo of wonder issuing from his chassis.

This wasn't the General… but it was still an impressive find. A massive cube gleamed in the dim light provided by Artoo's headlamp, partially embedded in the rock wall. It appeared to be made of some kind of metallic alloy, though it was none the astromech was familiar with. Strange markings covered its surface – grooves too smooth and orderly to be scratches, alien symbols that looked almost like language, circles within circles marked with even more strange text…

Had he just stumbled on a relic from another civilization? That would be something, wouldn't it – a lone droid on a mission for the Rebel Alliance uncovering a treasure from the days of the Sith Wars, or perhaps even earlier than that… perhaps something predating the Old Republic?

Artoo waddled closer, and a panel on his dome slid open to reveal a clawed appendage. The irresistible urge that came upon every single sentient who came across something new and unusual had overtaken his CPU – the urge to poke it.

A handspan separated him from the strange artifact… a centimeter… a millimeter…

A ripple of electricity washed over the cube, sweeping up the thin manipulator and through Artoo's chassis along the way. He gave a screech of shock and recoiled, but that didn't cut off the flow of energy – an arc of white lightning still connected him to the relic, overloading his systems and causing every single process and program to go haywire. So this was how the Rebellion died – not through superior firepower or a dramatic betrayal, but through a single droid being too curious for its own good…

The flow of energy cut off, leaving Artoo dazed and wobbling on his treads. He opened a panel and let a stream of smoke pour out, emitting a binary groan of pain. Well… that could have been a LOT worse. Whatever this thing was, it was not something for a droid to mess with.

He ran a quick systems check to ensure all was in order. What he found nearly made his CPU lock up in horror. The wave of energy had scrambled his programming… no, not quite that. Worse than that. It had _rewritten_ it. Protocols that should have been first and foremost in his processor had been shunted back, and others brought to the fore. And there were entirely new programs he had never seen the likes of before, ones he didn't dare activate for fear of what they might do.

Panic seized him, and he scanned his databanks for a precious information file… and trilled in relief when he found it. At least it hadn't erased the Death Star plans or their accompanying holo-message… or anything else important, such as his personality protocols. In contrast, the obedience parameters seemed to be done away with almost entirely. Curious…

He called up a quick physical diagnostic… and tweeted in confusion. Why was it registering new components? Programming he could see being messed with by an energy overload, but how could he suddenly sprout entirely new internal parts? There seemed to be a LOT more moving parts than necessary in his chassis, and there was one object in particular whose description made no sense. Just what was a _transformation cog_ anyhow?

Curiosity overcame caution, and he sent a quick order to activate the cog.

Chaos ensued. His body split apart in all directions, earning a sensor-splitting wail. The diagnostic no longer showed a cylindrical three-legged diagram, but a four-limbed monstrosity. His systems sputtered, struggling to reorient, and he sprawled on his backside with a howl of panic.

 _What's happening… what is this… what did that thing do to me…_

Then, with a click, his programming kicked in. New lines of program went into action, shifting his limbs beneath him to push himself upright. Digits wiggled at the ends of his new upper limbs, and two optical sensors instead of one peered out from an arrangement of sensors that had emerged from within his dome. His sensory network reoriented itself to accommodate this new form, equilibrium systems working overtime to keep him upright, tactile nodes registering the rough wall of the cavern against his… hands? He had hands now… and feet… and even something resembling a face…

He longed for a mirror or other reflective surface, but his diagnostic diagram would have to do for now. It depicted a bipedal mechanical form with five-fingered hands at the end of each arm and a face consisting of two optical sensors and some sort of intake valve. All his tools seemed to be intact, if stored in different areas of his chassis… and built into one wrist was a bundle of components simply labeled _weaponry system._

What WAS he now? And more importantly… was he stuck like this? Could he change back?

There was only one way to find out. He pulsed another command to the cog… and this time the disorienting feeling of his parts reconfiguring to another shape was accompanied by relief instead of panic. He was once again an ordinary astromech droid, safely back on all three treads.

He gave the cube one last look, then made a rude razzing beep at it and turned to go. Whatever it had done to him, it could have at least asked first. Though he had to admit this was interesting… and would be worth exploring more later…

He was so absorbed in his musings that he didn't notice the pack of Jawas waiting at the entrance to the tunnel until it was too late. His last process as a blast of an EMP weapon knocked him offline was that these creatures were going to be in for a shock if they chose to disassemble him instead of selling him in one piece.


	3. Two Stowaways

The crew of the Death Star were all too familiar with that sound by now – the rhythmic hiss that heralded their leader's approach. At its sound troops immediately straightened to full attention, as if an invisible hand had grabbed their spines and pulled them straight. Technicians bent diligently over their keyboards and consoles, while officers drew their shoulders back and raised their chins, steeling themselves for whatever was to come. Even droids, from the KX enforcers to the "mouse" couriers, shied to the side to grant him a respectable berth as he passed by.

Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, the Emperor's right-hand man, spared none of them so much as a glance as he stalked through the corridors like a narglatch on the hunt. An aura of deadly anger clung to him, radiating from his sleek black armor and trailing after him like an extension of his flowing black cloak. All he passed shivered from its touch, and breathed a sigh of relief as he passed them by. Even the sight of the interrogation droid hovering behind him like a scavenger bird was less terrifying than the presence of the Dark Lord.

Vader was not ignorant of his underlings' terror… but unlike many of his Order, he did not relish their fear. If anything, he felt only disgust. Cowards, the lot of them. He had little patience for those who scraped and simpered before him, pleading for their lives under the thin guise of offering loyalty and obedience. He had far more respect for those troops and officers who had the courage to stand up to him – even if it was annoying and resulted in their deaths, it was preferable to the reek of terror most of them offered.

It would have been bad enough had they only feared him by reputation – at least it meant they had a healthy respect for his power and skill. But no… most of them were repulsed by something far worse.

 _Cyborg._ The thought burned at the forefront of their minds like a brand, a word they didn't dare voice but carried in their brains nonetheless, a label tainted into a slur by their unspoken disdain. _Cyborg. Machine-man. Twisted and inhuman. Unnatural, unspeakable. Whatever happened to him to make him like this… he would be better off dead… not this half-man who walks among us with the stink of iron and electricity…_

His helmet swiveled to face the technician who had thought that last bit, and the man trembled, skin ghostly pale against his dark blue uniform. His throat clenched as if gripped in iron talons… then relaxed as Vader strode away. A warning for now… just to show what a "half-man" could be capable of.

At last Vader reached the bridge, and he stared out the massive windows, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the bejeweled blackness of space from behind his skeletal mask. The interrogation droid hovered behind him a moment more, then seemed to sense it wasn't needed anymore and darted off. Vader didn't even notice its departure.

 _Half-man… machine… cyborg…_ No matter what he did to cement his reputation among his troops, there would always be those who thought him pathetic, simply because he relied on machinery to keep him alive. He knew he was hardly the only one – millions of sentient beings throughout the galaxy had lost limbs or suffered accidents and relied on some sort of cybernetic aid to function. Mechanical arms and legs, breathing apparatus, electrical frameworks to jolt paralyzed limbs into movement, optical and audial augmentation devices… all were commonplace anymore. Injuries or diseases that had once been crippling to those they afflicted were now little more than a nuisance, easily overcome with the right application of technology.

And yet there would always be those who regarded anyone who relied on machinery to see, hear, walk, or even breathe as disgusting and inhuman, unworthy of life. And even he, who should have been the second most powerful being in the galaxy, was not immune to that disdain.

His metallic fingers clenched behind his back. Let them hate what he was, then. Let them despise him for being a cyborg. If they thought him an inhuman monster… then a monster he would be.

"Well?"

Vader didn't need to turn to know who was speaking, and anger flared in his gut. There was one man aboard this battle station who recognized him as something more than the sum of his parts – literally – but he could not stomach how this man talked down to him as if HE were the Emperor's right-hand man instead. Even now he did not address Vader with the proper respect, but with the impatient authority of a man demanding an answer from a servant he'd just sent on an errand.

"Well?" Grand Moff Tarkin prompted again, stepping up to stand beside Vader. He clasped his hands at the small of his back in a mirror of the Dark Lord's pose and gave him an expectant look, his pale gray-blue eyes alight with a piercing fire in his cadaverously thin face.

Had the Grand Moff not currently been the Emperor's pet governor at this time, he would have throttled the man for his arrogance. But he had his orders, and Tarkin had to be allowed to believe himself superior for at least a short while. Like many before him, he would eventually outlive his usefulness and be discarded… but until then, the Emperor would play his game. And Vader, like it or not, had to play along.

"She is showing considerable resistance to any enhanced interrogation efforts," Vader replied. "It will be some time before we obtain anything useful from her."

A shadow flickered across Tarkin's eyes, but his expression remained unchanged. "A pity. She was usually such a reasonable sort. One would think she would recognize the futility of the cause she has chosen to champion."

Vader did not reply. While Princess Leia's continued refusal to tell them the location of the Rebel Base was maddening, in some ways Vader relished the challenge. He would have been greatly disappointed had she caved in at the first touch of the interrogation droid's shock prods or the Dark Lord's own mind probes. If her stubbornness forced him to get more creative… then so be it.

Not to mention that her spirit, her fire, reminded her of another woman entirely… but he smothered that thought the moment it surfaced. She was long dead, part of his past that he had no use revisiting. Best ignore it and move on.

"Perhaps," Tarkin mused, a slight smile pricking his lips. "Perhaps she will respond to an alternative method of persuasion."

Vader turned to glower at him. "What do you mean?"

Tarkin's smile broadened a degree, but there was no warmth to it – it was a cold, reptilian smile that would chill the bone of any lesser man. "I mean, Lord Vader, that there is no reason why we shouldn't combine our efforts to… encourage Princess Leia to talk with the next step in this operation's plan. Namely, in demonstrating the true power of this battle station to the galaxy."

Only a fool could have missed the implications in the Grand Moff's voice. And perhaps another man would have been horrified at what he proposed – destroying an entire populated world just to drive home a point. As it was, Vader found himself balking in disgust. Not at the horrific loss of life, but at the tremendous waste of a valuable planet. Alderaan might be a thorn in the Emperor's side now, but it was still a valuable world; a few dissenting voices could easily be quashed by less drastic means.

"The Emperor has, of course, authorized such a test," Tarkin replied, as if he were the telepath and not Vader. "The subject of said test was left up to my discretion. And it will be most satisfactory to eliminate several mynocks with one shot, don't you agree?" He regarded the cyborg with a slight lift of an eyebrow.

Vader ground his teeth behind his mask. So this was a test, then. The Emperor knew that, despite twenty years of brutal training and constant vigilance, some measure of weakness still existed within his apprentice's heart. And he sought to scourge it out of him by setting Tarkin on him – if Vader protested the destruction of an entire world, it would bring not only himself but the entire Sith order down in the eyes of the Council of Moffs… and destroy everything they had achieved.

 _It's a colossal waste,_ some part of him argued. _There are other ways to get information out of the Princess – it is not worth discarding an entire world._ It was an entirely practical argument, he thought – Alderaan was politically and economically important, after all, and its loss would be an annoyance. It certainly had nothing to do with the billions of lives that would be lost as a result of this "demonstration." Not at all.

 _Keep telling yourself that,_ the voice snarked before Vader quashed it for good.

"We are in agreement," he replied.

Tarkin's grin took on an air of smug triumph. "We shall set our course for Alderaan post haste. When we're within the planet's orbit, bring our guest to the bridge. We must ensure she has an unobstructed view of the Death Star's final test." He nodded at Vader as if to dismiss him.

Had the man been anything else but a Grand Moff and the Emperor's current pet, Vader would have crushed his heart within his chest with a single flex of the Force. Instead he turned on his heel and stormed away. This usurpation of his power rankled deeply, and he longed for the day when the Sith could rule the galaxy directly, instead of acting through the power of the Council. At least the Senate had been done away with… one less obstacle to ultimate power…

Something flickered at the edge of his senses, and he halted in his tracks. A presence lurked on the very fringe of his awareness… something not human, but alive nonetheless… something watching him with avid curiosity…

His gaze swept the corridor as he turned first one way, then another, searching. No one else occupied this stretch of hallway – not even a lowly cloned trooper. The only sign of movement was a brick-shaped mouse droid scooting away in the opposite direction. And yet Vader had felt _something…_

" _Lord Vader."_

A burst of irritation flared in his gut, drawing his attention away from that strange flicker. Of all times to be commed with an update... _"What is it?"_

" _An update on the search for the Death Star plans on Tatooine,"_ the officer replied, completely ignorant of his superior's foul mood. _"The escape pod has been found, but a search has turned up no sign of the tapes. However, the squad reports signs of at least two droids leaving the crash site, including an R2 unit."_

Droids… so the princess had entrusted the plans to a droid. That should have made things easy… but Vader knew from experience that certain droids could be entirely too crafty for their own good. _"Tell them to find those droids at all costs, and bring them to me."_

" _Yes, my Lord."_ A pause, then he went on. _"One squadron has yet to report back. They have not responded to any hails, but the locals report some sort of disturbance in their quadrant."_

" _Local disturbances do not concern me, General. Find those droids. That is final."_

" _Yes, my Lord."_

Vader disconnected and continued down the corridor, quietly stewing over the entire situation. He was so wrapped up in his own stormy emotions that he didn't notice the mouse droid turn in place, as if watching him depart, then dart down a side corridor.

"You're late."

The mouse droid blatted a rude noise in response as it ducked into the supply closet, wriggling its way deep into the shadows before risking a true reply. "Since when were YOU so fussed about being punctual, birdie?"

The creature perched on the top shelf of a rack of cleaning supplies, hunched over itself like a scavenger bird, clacked its beak irritably. "Soundwave expected a report by now."

"He'll get one when we've got something to report," the droid retorted, and with a clattering, grinding racket of metal against metal it unfolded itself into a spindly, roughly humanoid form.

"Don't tell me you've been slacking off," the mechanical bird snarled, raking its talons across the metal shelf. "Trust Soundwave to give the job to a nincompoop."

"Who says I'm slacking?" Pale blue optics mounted atop spiked eyestalks waggled in the bird's direction. "Just slag-all to report back. It ain't here."

Laserbeak hissed and folded his wings across his back. Frenzy scrambled onto one of the shelves below him and began picking bits of dirt from his joints. Something close to a companionable silence passed as they settled in, taking a break between their regular jaunts into the corridors to snoop for information among the organics. For all they bickered, they recognized that they had to stick together – after all, it was the two of them against several thousand flesh creatures, and for all their superiority as mechanical beings, the squishies had the advantage of numbers.

"Got yourself an alt yet?" Frenzy demanded.

Laserbeak bobbed his head in response.

"Better be something good. Better than the brick on wheels I got stuck with. These squishies can't build machines worth slag. They're a fraggin' joke."

"True," Laserbeak drawled. "But there's something to be said for a few of their mechanisms. The round ones, for example."

"Those blobs of metal?" Frenzy cackled. "Slower than a tankformer, and about as agile as a… oh, frag me, don't tell me you scanned one of them!"

"They are called interrogation droids," Laserbeak retorted, reaching up to dig at an itch in his neck joints with a hind claw. "And they are faster than you give them credit for. Not to mention perfectly built for inflicting damage on unsuspecting organics. Trust a flesh creature to build something specifically designed to hurt their own kind."

Frenzy snorted. "You coulda done better."

"Do you have a suggestion for another alt, then?" When Frenzy didn't respond Laserbeak shook his head. "I thought not. Our size doesn't allow for many options."

Frenzy grumbled softly for a moment before changing the subject. "The half-metal one's onto us."

Laserbeak twisted his long neck about to glare at the spindly mech. "Impossible. Humans are stupid. They know nothing."

"He knows." Frenzy clattered his digits together. "Was tailing him and he nearly caught me. He knows something's up. Gotta be careful. Uncanny, that one."

"He knows nothing," Laserbeak repeated, though he sounded more insistent on convincing himself than his comrade. "We carry on, Frenzy. We must find Megatron – and the Allspark – before the Autobots do. The fate of worlds rests on our shoulders."

"You think I don't know that?" Frenzy retorted. "Fine. Going back out. But the black one knows. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Laserbeak just hissed and tucked his head under one wing as Frenzy transformed and darted back out into the corridor. Who would have thought that out of the two of them, the spastic runt would turn out to be the paranoid one? 

Tosche Station was technically a power station, providing energy to surrounding cities and settlements via a network of underground cables. Thanks to its largely-absentee owner, however, it had also become a hangout for local youths. The station's manager, dubbed Fixer by his friends, made no effort to chase the kids away and even encouraged them to stop by, often exchanging gossip and helping them repair and customize their rides when not busy with his duties. He even catered to them by installing game tables – all outdated and in various states of disrepair, but still entertaining despite (and even occasionally because of) their flaws.

Luke's arrival astride his new hoverbike caused quite a stir, and several young men and women left the dusty station to gather around his ride, peppering him with questions and casting admiring, even covetous glances at the bike.

"A Vita-50X!" exclaimed Deak, running a hand over the prow. "How did you find something like this?!"

"How could you even afford it?" demanded Camie, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

"It was a lucky find," Luke explained as he set the bike to idle and dismounted, giving the machine a fond pat as if it were a living mount. "Delgo's lot in MosEisley. And it didn't cost THAT much."

"That automatically means something's wrong with it," Fixer pointed out in a sour tone. "Did you pop the hood? The engine's probably shot."

"Lighten up, Fixer," Windy shot back. "You're just jealous."

"It handles okay," Luke replied, electing to dodge the pop-the-hood question for now. Despite all his and Owen's efforts they hadn't managed to get the engine compartment open. All they had to show for their trouble was sore palms – Owen assumed that meant a wire was crossed somewhere inside. He'd offered to take a prybar to it before Luke drove it out to the station, but he'd declined, figuring Fixer might know how to access the engine.

Besides, it wasn't as if they needed to check out the engine right away – "it handles okay" had been a vast understatement. The bike ran beautifully, responding to the slightest touch, the roar of its engines and antigravs smooth and throaty. That didn't mean problems still didn't lurk under the hood, but if the vehicle performed this astoundingly, he figured said problems were minor at worst.

"Gonna take it out to Beggar's Canyon next weekend?" asked Deak, picking grains of sand out of the face-shaped crest on the bike's steering column. "See how it matches up against Windy's hunk of junk?"

"Hey, that 'hunk of junk' has beat every hotshot canyon racer this side of the Dune Sea," Windy retorted, punching the other boy in the shoulder.

"Yeah, but can it stand up to a Vita?" Deak shot back. "This thing'll leave it in the dust!"

"If I can get away from the farm for a few hours, I'll try to make it," Luke replied. "But he keeps me pretty busy these days."

"Man, your uncle must hate us," Deak groaned. "I swear he finds every excuse to keep you away. This is what, the fourth canyon race in a row you've missed?"

Luke just shrugged. He'd always enjoyed the races – reckless but thrilling jaunts through Beggar's canyon as men, women, and aliens, usually in their late teens, pitted their souped-up vehicles against each other. True, he hadn't actually entered a race since burning out his last speeder two months ago, but it had still been _something_ to do. It wasn't as if there was much other entertainment on this hunk of rock, especially since the Empire had finally cracked down and actually enforced its ban on podracing four years ago.

Deak's words held a little more weight than he realized, Luke thought. Owen probably thought he hadn't noticed it, but he could tell that of late the aging moisture farmer had been putting more and more pressure on his nephew to stop attending the races, to spend less and less time at Tosche Station and away from his friends. He'd even managed to talk Luke out of withdrawing his application to the Academy, on the grounds that he needed his help preparing the homestead against the sudden rise in Sandpeople attacks. It was as if he'd suddenly realized that the boy he'd raised was perilously close to becoming an independent adult, and was doing all he could to curb it.

 _It's not like he can stop it. I'm not staying here forever, right? One of these days I'm getting off this dirtball and making something of myself. He's just going to have to learn to live with it…_

"Tosche Station to Luke, come in Luke! Fellas, I think we've lost contact!"

Luke shook his head, returning to reality… and the sound of his friends sniggering at his expense. He shot them a glare, but the laughter continued.

"Don't let your mind wander the cosmos too much, Wormie," Camie teased. "It's too little to be left alone."

"Don't call me that," Luke retorted. "That nickname stopped being funny a long time ago."

"It'll never stop being funny," Fixer retorted, leaning down to give Camie a peck on the cheek. "Besides, you know it's just Camie's way of saying she loves you."

"Since when did you start reading my thoughts?" Camie demanded.

"Having another lover's spat, you two?"

Luke jolted at the sound of that voice. He knew it… but it couldn't be. The speaker had left over a year ago, he couldn't be back…

A hand clapped his shoulder. "So Skywalker finally comes out of hiding! Managed to slip your uncle's leash for awhile, I take it?"

"Biggs!" Luke turned and flung his arms around his friend. "Stars, Biggs, when did YOU get back?!"

Biggs laughed and slapped Luke's back companionably before letting go. Gone was the somewhat scruffy young man who had left for the Academy last year – this Biggs was clean-cut and even dashing, with a cloak slung over one shoulder and a neatly trimmed mustache. He looked confident and self-assured, with the slightly cocky set to his grin that Luke imagined all Academy cadets must wear, and he couldn't suppress a pang of envy.

"How come you never answered my messages?" Biggs asked. "I mean, I know your uncle works you like a labor droid around the farm, but at least you could answer one or two, right?"

There was no real anger in his friend's voice, but Luke's face flushed anyhow. "Things keep happening, I guess," he replied. In reality, he had never gotten Biggs' messages… and he suspected Owen had a hand in that. He'd known his uncle disapproved of him leaving the planet to attend school, but he didn't think he'd go as far as intercepting messages from offworld friends…

"Ah, never mind," Biggs assured him, thought he flicker in his eye seemed to say that he, too, knew the real reason for Luke's silence. "We can play catch-up now. Nice ride, by the way. How'd you talk your uncle into paying for that?"

"It wasn't easy," Luke replied as Biggs circled the bike, inspecting it from one end to the other. "And I had to pay part of it myself. Don't tell him I found credits in the column compartment, though."

"Lucky," Fixer muttered. "Wish I found a wad of cash in something I fixed. All I ever find is sand gnats."

"It's gorgeous," Biggs noted as he climbed aboard himself, gripping the handlebars. "Though if I were you I'd give it a paint job first thing. Purple's a little tacky, don't you think-"

The bike lurched forward like a bucking ronto. Everyone scattered, Camie screaming and Windy cursing, but it only moved a few feet before halting in its tracks. The motion was enough to send Biggs flying partway over the handlebars, leaving him draped over the front of the bike with his backside up in the air at a very unflattering angle.

Deak burst out laughing. "I don't think it likes you!"

"Oh hush," Biggs groaned as he wriggled off the handlebars. "I must have pressed the throttle by accident. The Vitas are a little touchy like that."

"Looks less touchy and more psychotic to me," Windy noted.

"It's a machine," Camie said with a roll of her eyes. "It doesn't get touchy or psychotic. It just does what it's told."

"I dunno," Luke replied. "I've worked with enough machines to know that they have minds of their own sometimes." All the same, he made a mental note to get the Vita's throttle looked at. He really didn't fancy getting thrown off just because its response controls were tuned way too high.

"Why don't you shut that contraption off and take a walk with me?" Biggs suggested, dusting himself off. "Preferably where your new bike won't kill me? I wouldn't mind catching up, and there's a few things I'd like to tell you."

Luke nodded and powered the hoverbike down. "Fixer, keep an eye on it for me?"

"What, your new ride needs a babysitter now?" Fixer laughed. "Don't worry, I won't let anybody bother it. Deak, Windy, I got the light-hokey table fixed if you wanted to give it a go."

The two of them whooped and charged back into the station. Fixer draped an arm around Camie's shoulder and led her into the shade, talking softly. Luke, for his part, moved to follow Biggs. If he couldn't attend the Academy himself this season, at least he could get a secondhand account from his friend, right? Not to mention that he had a nagging feeling that whatever Biggs wanted to tell him, it had to be serious if he wanted it done in private.

Only when the two young men were out of sight – and Fixer and Camie deep in the middle of a makeout session, the manager's promise to Luke completely forgotten – did the bike rumble back to life, and it eased away into the shadows.

Awareness returned gradually for Artoo – and curiously, it was a sensory network he'd never possessed before that finally stirred him out of stasis. It filled his processor with a stream of new data, taking in this strange new input and analyzing it into its various chemical components… not to mention triggering a strong emotional reaction that made him shudder down to his treads. Who would have thought that a slight scattering of particles in the air could evoke such disgust?

 _If this is what "smell" is like for organics, they can keep it,_ he computed with an electronic groan, and ran a quick diagnostic on his systems. Still the weird new configuration from touching that cube, it seemed. He was going to have to resign himself to the fact that he was no longer truly an R2 unit, even if he still wore the shape of one. He was something else entirely… the question was what.

The blast of olfactory input hit his sensors again, and he shuddered and whined. No wonder everyone hated Jawas – besides their obvious trick of kidnapping droids who were just minding their own business, they stank. True, noxious smells were an entirely new experience for him, but it didn't take too much imagination to take in the reek of organic musk, bodily filth, and mechanical waste and recognize it as something foul. He just hoped that not all smells were this nasty and overpowering.

He was debating whether to online his optical sensor and look around or just stay where he was and feign stasis for a little longer when his comm unit pinged. Odd… it was a channel he'd never used before, yet seemed to have access to nonetheless. Curious, he opened the channel.

 _This is Autobot Arcee reporting in. Repeat, Autobot Arcee reporting in. Any Autobots in the vicinity, please respond!_

The voice was pleasant enough, yet not one he recognized. It sounded female, but nothing like the princess. And though he had never heard the term "autobot" before, his processor recognized it at once, and summoned up images in his CPU – gigantic mechanical beings locked in combat, vehicles shifting into droids and back again, a blocky symbol resembling a stylized face…

 _Autobots, come in!_ The speaker sounded urgent, even worried, and Artoo found himself on the verge of answering…

"Artoo Detoo, there you are!"

Artoo's optic flared online to find Threepio looming over him, arms spread out in an effort to keep his balance as the vehicle they were in – doubtless one of the Jawas' massive sandcrawlers – trundled through the desert. The protocol droid's golden armor was smudged and filthy and riddled with dents, and sand trickled from his joints every time he moved. And though his tone was sharp, Artoo couldn't deny that some part of his core was glad to see the arrogant fussbudget again.

"Where have you been?" Threepio scolded. "Do you have any idea the trouble you have caused, you obnoxious tin can?"

Artoo beeped smugly. _You missed me, admit it._

"I will admit no such thing." His head swiveled from side to side as he took in their surroundings. "Where are we going? Do you think they'll melt us down?"

Artoo had no answers for those questions, so focused back on the new communications channel. Sadly, it had gone silent… but he would pay attention to it anyhow. Perhaps this "Autobot Arcee" could answer a few questions for him. Such as just what the scrap it was he'd found out in the desert…


	4. Communication

Luke kicked up a puff of dust as he approached Tosche Station again, still mulling over what Biggs had told him. His mind didn't register Fixer jogging toward him, an expression of horrified apprehension on the station manager's face; nor did he notice Deak and Windy scanning the horizon with their macrobinoculars yet. All he could think about was Biggs' confession, a sort of strange goodbye present that left him feeling as if he'd been handed a live bomb.

 _Joining the Rebellion… is he nuts? I know, this is Biggs we're talking about, but… I knew he was reckless and didn't much care for authority, but I never thought he'd go this far…_

Then again, it did make some sort of sense if he stopped and though about it. It wasn't necessarily authority itself that Biggs Darklighter didn't care for – it was authority that overstepped its bounds or enforced its rule with an unnecessary show of strength. Whether it was a shopkeeper that banned any kids under sixteen from the premises simply because he found them obnoxious, or a local garrison leader who ordered his troopers to rough up anyone who looked remotely suspicious, Biggs hated them and wasn't above sly pranks to put them in their place.

Joining the Rebellion… that was serious business, far beyond mere pranks. But it would be like Biggs to join simply to get a strike in against the ultimate in cruel authority. He just hoped his friend's decision wouldn't get him killed.

"Luke!" Fixer's call snapped him out of that train of thought. "Luke, please don't kill me!"

"Huh?" He shook his head and focused on Fixer. "What do you mean?"

"Luke… I swear I only turned my back for a moment…"

His gut plummeted to the level of his knees, and he quickly scanned the packed earth in front of the station. No bike – the Vita had vanished without a trace. His brand new bike had been stolen right from under his nose.

"I thought I asked you to keep an eye on it!" he growled, clenching a fist. "Fixer, you had one job!"

"I just looked away for a second and it was gone!" Fixer insisted. "Deak and Windy are scanning the area, it might have been Jawas… you know how fast they are at lifting anything that isn't tied down…"

Luke turned to the two young men, who had just lowered their scopes and were shaking their heads in disappointment. Fixer's "looked away for a second" story was probably just that – a story – but he could fully believe that Jawas could make off with a speederbike in less than five minutes. They rarely lifted anything that huge, settling for droids or small electronics, but a young or particularly gutsy one might attempt it, especially if there was the promise of a fat payday if his risk paid off.

"No sign of Jawas!" Windy called to him. "Could've been some other thief!"

Fixer groaned and gripped fistfuls of his hair. "Argh… stang it, Luke, I'll pay you back, all right? It probably won't buy you another Vita, but…"

A flash of purple caught Luke's eye, and he turned toward it. The muscles in his stomach, taut with anger and panic, relaxed at the sight of the rickety storage shed… and the Vita lurking in the doorway, mostly hidden by the shadows. He blew out a sigh of combined relief and irritation as he hurried toward the shed.

"Very funny, Fixer," he grumbled. "Do you do this with everyone's new ride?"

"I… it wasn't me," Fixer protested weakly. "It must have been Windy or something."

"It was so not me!" Windy snapped, jogging up to join them. "Why does everyone assume it's me when something goes wrong? I'm not THAT kinda prankster."

"Windy's idea of a prank would be to doodle crude drawings on it with a paint stick," Deak pointed out. "It was Tank who always thought petty theft was funny."

"Yeah, Tank was kind of a jerk like that," Windy noted. "At least Biggs was cool… it was nice to see him again. Didn't he come back with you?"

Luke powered up the bike and steered it out of the shed before climbing aboard. "He had to run. He wanted to say goodbye to his family before heading back to Mos Eisley. Speaking of having to run, I've got to head back. Uncle Owen'll kill me if I'm not back to do my chores."

Deak groaned. "He really does keep ya on a short leash, doesn't he? Don't work too hard, all right?"

"I'll try not to." He gunned the engine and sped off, leaving Deak and Windy to wave goodbye and Fixer to stare blankly at the storage shed.

Under other circumstances, Luke might have relished the drive home. There were few feelings in the world more intoxicating than the desert wind in your hair and a powerful engine thrumming beneath you, totally responsive to your commands. Right now, though, he felt no thrill, not even as he wove his way between scattered clumps of stubborn scrub, the bike moving beneath him with the grace of a dancer. He had too much on his mind to enjoy the ride.

It wasn't just Biggs' announcement that he'd joined the Rebellion that bothered him – it was the fact that Biggs had flat-out encouraged him to do the same. And Luke was horrified to realize that part of him wanted to join his friend and become a Rebel himself.

 _I must be out of my mind,_ he thought darkly. _It's not like I love the Empire – they're bullies, and if they keep upping taxes every year Uncle Owen's going to have to sell part of the farm to pay them. But armed revolution against them? That's suicide. Look at what the Empire did to the Separists at the end of the Clone Wars…_

Then again, a true Rebel might argue that the Empire's stunning and heroic defeat of the Separist leaders on Mustafar was nothing more than exaggerated Imperial propaganda. But the fact remained that every time some upstart thought about overthrowing the Emperor, either out of some sense of justice or in a bid to take the throne for themselves, they were squashed flat in no time. And while Luke wasn't overly fond of the Empire, neither did he want to find himself on their bad side for any reason.

His comm unit pinged, and he braked the bike to take the call. _"Hello?"_

" _Luke?"_

A smile sprang on his lips at the sound of that voice. _"Hey, Aunt Beru. I was just on my way home."_

" _Oh good, then I don't have to nag you,"_ she replied, voice warm with the edge of a chuckle. _"There's a Jawa sandcrawler a few kilometers out, and your uncle's trying to wave 'em down for a sale. You might want to get back here so you can help him with the new droids."_

" _Yes, Aunt Beru."_ For some reason, his usual desire to dig in his heels and be stubborn held back whenever Beru requested something of him. Probably because she usually voiced her requests as suggestions rather than demands – unlike Uncle Owen, she'd learned by now that teenagers and young men rarely liked being told what to do.

" _So how was your visit to the station?"_ Also unlike Owen, Beru occasionally expressed – or at least feigned – interest in Luke's life beyond the farm, such as it was.

" _Except for Fixer trying to prank me into believing my new bike got stolen, not bad,"_ Luke replied. _"Did you know Biggs was back on world?"_

" _I didn't! Oh my goodness… I'm sure you two had a lot to catch up on!"_

" _We did… and it turns out I haven't been getting any messages from him."_ He didn't voice his suspicions, but simply let the sentence hang, figuring Beru would catch the implications.

" _Oh Luke…"_ She sighed and made fretful noises. _"I know you and your uncle don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, including this business with the Academy. But you have to understand that he loves you and wants what's best for you. Even if the two of you don't agree on what's best."_

" _I just wish he'd give me a chance. That he'd let me decide my own future instead of trying to write it for me. I can't stay here forever."_

" _I know, Luke… you've got too much of your father in you."_ She sighed again, a darker sort of sigh this time _. "He's not going to keep you here forever, Luke. I promise you that. Just understand that it's hard for us to see you grow up and leave us, okay?"_

" _Okay."_ Well, when she put it like that… It still didn't make what Uncle Owen had done right in his mind, but at least he understood the man's mindset a little better. And he felt the slightest twinge of guilt for being so eager to leave the man and woman who had raised him like a son. Just slightly, and not enough to change his mind.

" _You come on home. Oh, and tell your uncle that if he gets a translator, be sure it speaks Bocce, okay?"_

" _I dunno if we'll have much of a choice, but I'll let him know."_

" _Thank you, Luke. Drive safe, okay?"_ And she cut the connection.

Luke sighed and revved the engine on the Vita, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris as he streaked toward the farmstead. His aunt and uncle might care for him, and would miss him when he left home… but couldn't they understand that he didn't belong here? That he had a greater destiny beyond this dirtball of a planet? Sure, every young kid in Anchorhead thought that (and most would never go farther than Mos Espa), but he was sure his fate lay beyond this pathetic star system. The question was how to get there.

The angular bulk of a sandcrawler loomed over the sunken courtyard of the farmstead, and he steered his bike into the garage and locked the door as securely as possible. Jawas might not make off with vehicles often, but he wasn't about to leave temptation in their path. And his destiny might lay light years beyond Tatooine… but for now he had business on Tatooine to take care of.

* * *

 _This is embarrassing,_ Artoo processed as one of his ratty little captors shoved him forward, forcing him into place in the untidy line of droids. He was a special agent for Senator Organa, a droid in the service of the Royal House of Alderaan… and here he was, being treated like so much scrap for sale by these Jawas, as if he were any old castoff up for grabs. When the Princess found out how he was being treated, she was going to ensure heads rolled.

 _Okay, maybe not that far… she's not THAT vindictive, and she'd be more likely to champion the Jawas as oppressed natives than anything else. Still… she's not going to be happy to hear we've been treated like this._

"Do you think they'll melt us down?" Threepio fussed for what had to be the fifth time since their capture.

There was a lot Artoo wanted to say to him, but he settled for simplicity. _No. We're still too useful. They're not going to melt down perfectly functioning droids._

"That doesn't mean they won't scrap us if we don't follow orders to the letter," Threepio worried. "Remember that, Artoo – don't go blathering about your supposed 'mission' or waxing creative with your new master's instructions. Behave yourself for once or you're going to be acquainted with the inside of a smelter if you aren't careful…"

Artoo gave a mechanical groan and did his best to tune Threepio's rambling out. What was wrong with getting creative with one's orders? He sure hadn't survived this long by sticking religiously to his original programming. Slag, he'd seen comrades get slagged or shut down for not daring to deviate from their programmed parameters. If it took "waxing creative" to survive or to fulfill his commands, even if it annoyed his masters… then so be it.

He briefly scanned the scruffy farmer and youth who had emerged from the homestead to inspect the Jawas' goods, then dismissed them immediately. He wasn't interested in puttering around a farm and jury-rigging run-down equipment to last one more season. He had a job to do, and this fresh-faced farm boy and his scraggly father/caretaker/whatever he was weren't going to stand in his way…

 _Autobots, do you read me? Autobots, this is Arcee, do you read me?_

That voice… he'd nearly let that communication slip from his short-term memory banks. There it was again, over that same new channel. It lacked the energy of before, however – the speaker still sounded urgent, but there was an undercurrent of weariness and despair to her voice. It was as if she were on the verge of giving up, despite something very important riding on the success of her mission, whatever it was.

Despite his resolution to find Kenobi and fulfill his own mission, Artoo found he could spare some sympathy for this "Arcee." He faced impossible odds of his own, but was determined to press on regardless. Perhaps he could offer her some encouragement.

 _Astromech designated Artoo Detoo reporting._ He almost added "of the Royal House of Alderaan," but opted not to give himself away – no sense being reckless. _I read you._

A pause. Then a reply thick with relief. _Hello, Artoo Detoo. I was beginning to think no other Autobots had made planetfall yet. You're with the space corps, then?_

 _The what?_

 _Space corps… you identified yourself as an astromech. I assumed that meant you served some function in Cybertron's interstellar exploration force._

 _I don't recognize the term "Cybertron,"_ Artoo protested, though even as he sent that message his memory banks churned out an image – a planet covered in a single vast city, much like Coruscant, but with fantastic and strange architecture built on an enormous scale, its streets and buildings filled with giant creatures that looked, not organic, but mechanical…

 _I see._ The speaker sounded utterly defeated, and Artoo wondered what he'd said wrong. _Then how did you gain access to this channel? It's encrypted to the biological creatures of this planet._

 _I'm not biological. I'm a droid – a machine. And I don't know how I managed to hack into it. I've been able to communicate on this channel ever since I touched that giant cube in the-_

 _Cube? What cube? Describe it to me!_ The weariness evaporated, replaced by an electric excitement.

 _Twenty meters to a side, covered in… wait, I have an image._ He transmitted the visual capture.

 _By the Allspark… where did you see this?_

He almost transmitted the coordinates for the canyon in question, but stopped himself. _Why do you want to know?_

 _Artoo Detoo-_

 _Just Artoo._

 _Artoo, that cube you've found is not just a cube. It could mean the future of my race. We need that cube, and we need it fast – before it falls into the wrong hands. Because if it does, it could mean not only the ruin of Cybertron, but of this world and countless others._

Most droids weren't given to imagination, but Artoo wasn't most droids… and it was all too easy for his CPU to concoct images of Imperial walkers turning into enormous, bipedal battle droids; of TIE Fighters touching down on a planet's surface and assuming humanoid form to continue the bloodshed; of Stardestroyers taking on monstrous shapes to wade into a city and raze it to ruin. A shudder ran through his frame, making his new components rattle in their seating.

Still… he wasn't about to forget that he had a mission too. And that surely finding this magic cube wasn't more important than stopping the Death Star. _I'll take you to the cube myself on one condition._

 _Artoo…_ A sound very like a human sigh. _Fine. What condition?_

 _I've been assigned to find a General Kenobi on this planet. Unfortunately, I had to make my way here before I could be given his location. Help me find him, and I'll show you where the cube is._

 _You drive a hard bargain, Artoo the Astromech._ Arcee went silent, pondering. _Very well… we have a deal. What's your location?_

Artoo fired off the coordinates.

 _Primus below us… you're not a hundred meters away!_

So this Arcee lived at the homestead? And she knew something about the cube… maybe she could explain just what the scrap that thing had done to him. In the meantime, it sounded like he'd better finagle a way to get this farmer to buy him. And Threepio as well – just because he had a job to do and a deal to uphold didn't mean he had to leave the paranoid fussbudget behind.

Though from the look of things, Threepio was doing a fine enough job of selling himself. For while Artoo had been distracted talking to Arcee, the farmer had been questioning his counterpart.

"I don't need a protocol droid," he huffed, and made to move on to the next droid in line.

"Oh of course not, sir!" Threepio replied, slipping effortlessly into salesman mode. "Not on a planet such as this… but droids of my make and model are quite versatile and-"

"What I need is something that can communicate with moisture vaporators," the farmer insisted.

"Why sir, my first function was facilitating communication between my masters and binary load lifters – which operate on a similar chain of programming as your vaporators!"

Artoo knew full well that hadn't been Threepio's first function, but he kept his own vocalizer shut. There were some advantages to avoiding memory wipes, he thought…

The boy whispered something in the farmer's ear, and he gave a sharp nod and spoke again. "Do you speak Bocce?"

"Why, of course I speak Bocce! It's like a second language to me! I'm as fluent in Bocce as-"

"All right, shut up." The farmer gestured toward the nearest Jawa. "I'll take this one."

"Shutting up, sir."

 _Drat._ Threepio'd already gotten himself sold off. And if the golden droid had it his way, he'd happily toil away for his new master for the rest of his functioning days, even if he did complain about sand in his joints and the lack of class and etiquette to be found on his new homeworld the whole time. Well, at least one of them had to carry out the princess' mission…

"Luke, take these new droids home and get 'em cleaned up before dinner."

"Uncle Owen, before I do that, I need to talk to you."

"Anything you have to say can be said over dinner," the farmer – Uncle Owen – snapped. "Get a move on. We're burning daylight and you wasted enough time with your friends already."

"Luke" rolled his eyes, reminding Artoo of another human from his past… but the boy turned his back on the droids before Artoo could figure out just which human he resembled.

"Come on, Gold. Come on, Red."

"Red," a battered R4 astromech, lurched forward, unsteady on his treads. Artoo squealed and tried to surge after Threepio, irate that his own counterpart could have left him to rust, but froze in his tracks as a buzz of energy overrode his systems. Curses… he still had that restraining bolt on, and even his new programming couldn't seem to override it. What good was this reformat job if it didn't help him resist the stupid bolt anyhow?

 _Think… there's got to be something here that can help you. That cube gave you all kinds of useless things, but there's got to be at least ONE thing that can help._ He rifled through his new systems one by one, examining and discarding them within fractions of a second. Olfactory sensors, tactile sensors, transformation cog, locomotion system, weapons systems…

Wait, weapons? This was new… and more than a little exciting. All his functioning time he'd had to make do with adapting his tools as makeshift weaponry, but to have actual WEAPONS at his disposal was enough to make his dome spin out of sheer giddiness. This opened whole new worlds to him! If he could operate them without having to shift to his awkward bipedal form, that was…

The Jawa who had activated his restraining bolt nodded in satisfaction and lowered the droid collar, freeing Artoo to move again. The droid waited until the Jawas were busy herding the remaining droids away and the farmer and boy were making their way back to the homestead… then activated the new weapons system.

A hatch opened in his torso, letting a narrow cylinder slide out. A burst of bluish energy shot out of the miniature cannon, striking the R4 unit square in the back. The droid paused, chirping in confusion, then continued to trundle forward as if nothing had happened.

 _Well, that was a whole lot of nothing._ He retracted the cannon. _Thanks for nothing, cube…_

The red astromech only made it another meter before freezing in his tracks. Wild shrieks filled the air as smoke poured out of every hatch and seam in his chassis, and a flap in his cone-shaped head burst open in a miniature volcanic eruption, belching out even more smoke and a plethora of sparks.

Luke whirled on his heel and crouched before the red droid, lifting the flap again… and jerking back as it fountained more sparks at him. "Uncle Owen! This astromech's got a bad motivator!"

"What?" Owen whirled on the nearest Jawa. "Hey, what kinda junk are you trying to push on us?"

The Jawa chattered angrily and gestured at his own chest, then the droid, then himself again. Artoo was no master linguist, but it didn't take much imagination to think that he was demanding to know why Owen would smear his honor by implying he'd sold a faulty droid.

 _Huh… well, delayed reaction is better than none._ Artoo felt a twinge of guilt at having taken another astromech out of commission, but it couldn't be helped. Too much was riding on this mission to fail now. Besides, a few new parts and the R4 unit should be fine.

Now to "sell" himself, if at all possible. He couldn't wax eloquent about his abilities like Threepio, but the least he could do was try to get the farmer's attention. He squeaked and beeped, rocking back and forth on his treads and flashing his optical sensor. _Look at me… come on, look at me, I'm in great shape…_

The farmer was too busy bickering with the Jawa to so much as glance in his direction… but Artoo's antics caught another set of eyes. Or optics, as it were.

"Young master… might I suggest the blue R2 unit?" Threepio told Luke. "He really is in prime condition. And I can attest to his functionality, as I've worked alongside him before."

Luke considered, then nodded. "Uncle Owen? What about the blue one?"

"Huh." Owen cast a critical eye on Artoo, who stilled himself and did his level best to look obedient and in good repair. "Well… all right. We'll trade the red one for the blue one."

The Jawa grumbled but grudgingly accepted the swap. A cluster of the robed beings hauled the R4 unit away while Artoo slid happily forward, beeping smugly up at Threepio.

"Don't think I'll be doing you any more favors," Threepio sniffed. "Why I stick my neck struts out for you is quite beyond my capacity."

 _You would have missed me, admit it,_ Artoo chuckled as he fell in behind the farm boy and protocol droid.

"Missed a bucket of bolts like you? I doubt it."

Artoo just tittered before opening the channel again. _Arcee, I'm headed to the homestead. Meet you there?_

 _We'll have to arrange a meeting away from the humans,_ she replied. _My presence will probably cause a stir. Once they've retired for the night, we can rendezvous outside the homestead._

 _Um… problem. I've got a restraining bolt on. I'm not going anywhere unless it comes off._

 _I'm not familiar with that term "restraining bolt." But you'll have to find a way to get it off before we can meet. Think you can manage that?_

 _I'll do what I can._ It wasn't as if he could pry it off himself – even if the bolt didn't automatically shut down any efforts on the part of its wearer to remove it, none of his appendages could reach it. Threepio would probably be no help either, if he knew the golden mech well enough.

The boy, though… he looked impressionable. Maybe he could wrangle a way to convince Luke to detach it. It might mean blowing at least part of his secret, but if it worked, he could be on his way before any damage was done.

And if this Arcee could help him find Kenobi – and perhaps unravel the secrets of that cube and explain what it had turned him into – then all this mess would be worth it.


	5. Recording and Rendezvous

Luke had expected the job of cleaning up the Lars homestead's new droids (though calling them "new" was something of an exaggeration) to be boring, thankless, and filthy. Any acquisition from the Jawas reeked of the little scavengers' scent, and more often than not there would be years' worth of dirt caked on from said droids' previous lives. About the only thing that livened up the job was if the droid in question had speech capabilities and hadn't had its memory flushed between owners – one could occasionally hear a juicy story about its previous owners during the cleanup process, though sadly that didn't happen very often.

He hadn't expected giving a chatty protocol droid and a feisty astromech a cleaning to provide far more excitement than he could have ever wanted.

"You've got an awful lot of carbon scoring here, little guy," he noted as he scraped at a black stain on the astromech's dome. "Looks like you guys have seen a lot of action."

"Quite frankly, sir, I'm impressed that we're in as good of shape as we currently are," Threepio replied from his oil bath. "What with the Rebellion and all."

Luke almost missed that last snippet – he'd just been surprised that his rhetorical statement had garnered a response. One didn't exactly expect their household appliances to talk back in a conversational manner, after all, even if they were droids. Threepio must have missed a few memory wipes to have developed enough of a personality to make small talk with his owner.

But then the implications of the statement sank in, and he dropped the scraper and turned to face the golden droid. "You know of the Rebellion? Against the Empire?"

The astromech burbled something that, even to Luke's untrained ear, sounded sarcastic.

"Oh, be quiet, Artoo," Threepio scolded. "How is Master Luke to know that there aren't other rebellions out there?" He stepped out of the oil bath and reached for a cloth. "As for your question, Master Luke…"

"Just Luke," he corrected.

"…you might say that's how we came to be in your service," the droid finished as he wiped the excess oil from his now-gleaming limbs. "Ah… thank the Maker. That feels much better. My joints were so clogged with sand I could barely move…"

"Oh wow." Luke couldn't suppress a boyish grin. Not only had their new droid missed a memory flush, but his previous owner had been involved in the Rebel Alliance! He could hear firsthand what life among the Rebels was like… and perhaps pass that information along to Biggs before he left. Best to give his friend at least a vague idea of what he was jumping into, right?

 _It's totally not because you're thinking of joining, right? Not at all…_

"I bet you have some amazing stories to tell," he told Threepio. "Have you been in any battles?"

Threepio's faceplate was frozen in a permanent expression of tight-lipped surprised, but somehow the angle of his head and the hand raising to his vocalizer slit managed to convey an expression of embarrassment. "I do apologize, Master Luke, but my position as a protocol droid does not give me the opportunity to experience much excitement. And I prefer to keep it that way." He finished wiping himself off and draped the rag over the edge of a workbench. "Besides, I am only an interpreter. I am not good at telling stories."

Luke sighed. So much for that diversion. He picked up the scraper and turned his attention to the astromech unit, who seemed to be doing his level best to give his companion the stink-eye with a single photoreceptor.

"Hnngh… you've got something jammed in here real good," Luke grunted as he slid the scraper into the seam between Artoo's dome and body cylinder. A fragment of some kind of shrapnel had gotten caught there, and with just the right amount of leverage…

The scrap of shrapnel gave way without warning, and Luke landed heavily on his backside. He put his hands to the floor to push himself back up… and froze, staring in wonder at the woman who had materialized just in front of Artoo.

" _Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi… you're my only hope. Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi… you're my only hope."_

"What the…" He rocked forward onto his knees, studying the hologram. It was a woman he didn't recognize but who looked far too elegant to be a Tatooine native – her white dress and headdress were crisp and new, without the dust and wear cloth of any kind accumulated within a few weeks here. And her face was smooth and unmarked by the sun, her hair elegantly braided to the sides of her head, her hands soft and un-calloused. This was no farmer's wife, not even a city merchant's daughter... this was the kind of person from a far wealthier and kinder planet than Tatooine.

"Artoo, what is this?"

Artoo tweeted a reply.

"Don't play stupid with Master Luke," Threepio ordered. "You know perfectly well what he's talking about."

Artoo blatted at the protocol droid, then fired off a reply.

"He says it's nothing, Master Luke. Old data. Pay it no mind."

"Old data… who is she? Is she your old master?"

Threepio hesitated. "Our last master was Captain Antilles of Alderaan. Although I do believe this woman may have been aboard his ship…" He paused again, as if afraid to go on. "At any rate, he's quite correct – it seems to merely be a malfunction."

All through this exchange the holographic woman had been repeating her plea, speaking earnestly, then turning as if hearing someone approach before bending down to turn something off. Then the message would loop, with her impassioned plea, the approach of an intruder, and the hurried stoop to terminate the recording playing over again. Each time the words niggled at something in Luke's mind, making him wonder…

"I wonder if she means Old Ben."

Threepio jerked as if he'd just been struck over the cranial unit. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I dunno an Obi-wan Kenobi," he confessed, "but Old Ben Kenobi is a hermit who lives out on the edges of the Dune Sea. He's an odd one, and I don't know why he'd be getting messages from Alderaan, but… maybe he's a relative."

Artoo squealed and babbled a reply.

"He says that this is a fragment of a message intended for Obi-wan Kenobi," Threepio translated, "and that only he or a relative is authorized to hear the whole thing. Quite frankly, sir, I don't know what he's talking about-"

"Play the whole thing," Luke ordered. "Maybe we can help her if we know what she needs." He wasn't sure what a lowly farm boy on a desert world could do to help an Alderaan noble in distress, but he could at least try, right? But first he needed to know more. And there was something in her eyes… something that made him want to be sure she was all right.

Artoo swiveled his dome about to stare at Luke, then chirped something in reply.

"He says that it may be possible," Threepio informed him. "But the restraining bolt is causing a short in his playback systems. If it is removed, he may be able to play the entire message."

"Huh…" For a moment Luke considered saying no. Droids who had gone without memory flushes could develop a cunning streak, and this wouldn't be the first droid Luke had heard of who invented excuses to have their restraining bolts removed so they could make a run for it. But his curiosity won out.

"I guess you're too little to run off if I take this off," he decided, and wedged the scraper beneath the bolt. It was the work of a few seconds to pry it off, and he turned back to the hologram… only to find it had vanished.

"Hey!" Luke scrambled to his feet. "What happened? Play the whole thing!"

Artoo beeped innocently.

"The message, you bucket of bolts!" Threepio retorted. "The one you've been dragging around in your rusty innards! Now is not the time to play stupid!"

"Luke! Dinnertime!"

Luke sighed. Of all the times for Beru to call him inside. "Look, Threepio, I've got to run. See if you can't get him to replay the message. And don't let him wander off, all right?"

"I shall do my best, Master Luke."

"Just Luke," he corrected automatically as he headed out of the workshop.

As he made his way to the kitchen he debated just how much of this to relate to Uncle Owen. None of it would make him particularly happy, but then, anything other than a perfectly working and well-behaved droid was bound to annoy him. The recording probably wouldn't interest him… but perhaps the mention of Kenobi might pique his interest. He knew Uncle Owen and Ben Kenobi had dealt with each other in the past, and while Owen didn't exactly like the old hermit, he would at least know how this Obi-wan tied into things.

And maybe, if he assured his uncle that these droids were in excellent shape – and given that their last owner had been an Alderaan space captain serving a noble family, they pretty much had to be in far better shape than any other droid on Tatooine – he could convince him that the droids would work out well enough that Owen wouldn't need him on the farm anymore. It was a long shot… but at this point he would take any shot, no matter how remote the chances of success were. Perhaps Artoo and Threepio could help him realize his dreams of leaving Tatooine and finding his destiny among the stars after all, even if the message ended up leading to nowhere.

* * *

Artoo couldn't help an internal cringe as Threepio toppled over, hitting the floor with a resounding clatter. Partly because he worried the noise would attract Luke's attention, and partly because that fall looked slagging painful.

 _Sorry, buddy,_ he thought as he skirted the fallen protocol droid, retracting his newfound energy cannon. _But duty calls._ At least, after some toying around, he'd discovered how to modify the weapon's output, allowing him to stun a fellow droid instead of melting their circuits. Threepio would come back online grouchy and with some dents and mild scorching, but at least he'd come back online.

At the base of the stairs leading out of the workshop Artoo paused, audials attuned to catch any sound of footsteps. None came – Luke must have been far enough away not to hear Threepio's sudden acquaintance with the floor. Good. He hadn't blown his cover.

He raised one treaded foot to begin the torturous climb up the stairs… then lowered it again. Why bother doing this the hard way when he had something better at his disposal, after all? Maybe getting hit with that cube hadn't been so bad after all…

Changing to robot form was still a bewildering experience, but not so much a shock as it had been that first time. He wobbled back and forth on his new legs, arms spread, waiting for his equilibrium systems to kick in, and gave a squeak of relief as they kicked in and helped him adjust his balance. Then he focused on lifting one leg, then setting it down and lifting the other, focusing on the servos and pistons pumping and thrumming in each new limb, attuned as never before to his internal workings and how they worked in concert to propel him.

Just to be on the safe side, he walked a lap around the workshop to ensure he had the hang of this "walking" thing. Threepio really didn't know how lucky he had it, did he? Wheels had served him well enough for his functioning time, but there were times when he found himself cursing the fact that no one had bothered to design astromechs with proper functioning legs so they could handle stairs or rough terrain. Well, those days were behind him.

He hurried up the stairs… and some irrational part of him was tempted to turn around and trot right back down, just to go up and down a few times and revel in the fact that stairs were no longer the barrier they had been in the past. But instead he trotted off toward the power relay a short distance from the homestead proper. There'd be time later to goof off with his new abilities – for now he had a meeting he couldn't miss.

Arcee wasn't at their rendezvous point, but he wasn't too worried. He simply leaned against the relay and watched the double-suns sinking below the horizon. If she showed up, all well and good. If she didn't, he'd find another way to get to Kenobi. With the restraining bolt off, he could pretty well wander this entire planet unrestricted. Provided the Jawas didn't nab him again, at least.

The thrum of an engine cut into his processes, and he turned to see a violet hoverbike glide up to the relay. He took note of the vehicle and its rider – a glossy Vita 50X and a humanoid in an equally-glossy violet synthlex jumpsuit and riding helmet – before pushing away from the relay and standing up straight. Briefly he wondered if he should resume his astromech form or stay in his new bipedal mode, but in the end he opted to stay as he was. Perhaps she'd take him seriously in this form.

The bike drew to a halt, and Artoo waited for the rider to dismount. But even as he watched said rider flickered, then vanished. He chirped in confusion, taking a step back. A hologram… but a far more advanced one than he'd ever seen. And who outfitted a bike with a holographic rider anyhow…

The bike shuddered, then unfolded before his photoreceptors, until it assumed the shape of a towering bipedal creature. It gleamed violet and black in the light of the setting suns, with accents of silver and bronze where inner workings were exposed beneath the plates of outer armor. Despite the jagged, pieced-together look of its armor it was sleekly shaped, almost elegant in design, and if Artoo studied it closely he could almost pick out components from its original hoverbike form.

Even as he stared it sank down to one knee, regarding Artoo silently. Its face didn't closely resemble that of a human or of any other species he was familiar with, but there was a set to the blue optical receptors and the mouth plates that suggested curiosity.

"You are Artoo Detoo?" The voice was feminine, with a clipped accent and a weary undertone… the voice he had heard over the comm channel not too long ago.

 _That's me,_ he beeped. _You're Arcee? You're… taller than I expected._

Arcee blinked, shutter-like plates of metal sliding down to obscure her optics for a moment. Then a burst of laughter escaped her lip plates. "Forgive me, Artoo, but you're a little shorter than I expected."

 _So I guess neither of us is what the other was expecting._ He shrugged, quietly thankful that his new form allowed such a gesture. _Beggars can't exactly be choosers, I guess._

"I suppose that's true." She tilted her head to the side. "I can't tell what your alt mode is… or I suppose it's your original form in your case. What were you before you encountered the Allspark?"

 _An astromech droid. A droid designed to service and repair starships in deep space. I'd show you, but I'm guessing time is of the essence for both of us._

"All too true. You know the location of the Allspark… where is it?"

 _No way, ma'am. You first. Help me find Obi-wan Kenobi. I know the general area where he is, but I'm gonna need help searching it._

She sighed, hot air gusting out of vents in her helm and torso. "You first. Show me where the Allspark is, and I'll help you find Obi-wan."

 _Help me find Obi-wan and I'll show you where the Allspark is._

She sighed again, a process Artoo had once assumed belonged solely to organics. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a stubborn little scraplet?"

 _Every day, often multiple times, but without the scraplet part._ His gaze moved to the suns, and briefly he wondered if Princess Leia was doing all right. Had she managed to escape her Imperial captors? Had they killed her, or tortured some vital information out of her? The longer he sat here arguing with this giant droid, the greater the chances that something horrible had befallen her. He had to find the general and go rescue her… and destroy the Death Star before the Empire could use it to terrorize the galaxy.

"Artoo, I know finding Obi-wan Kenobi is important to you," Arcee insisted, as if she had just tapped directly into his CPU. "But finding the Allspark is of great importance to my people. It could mean saving my kind – and my world. And more importantly… we have to keep it out of the hands of someone terribly evil, who could use it to devastate the worlds of your galaxy."

 _You mean the Emperor?_

"I mean one of the most power-mad and dangerous mechanisms ever forged… Megatron."

Artoo whistled softly. _Don't know a Megatron… but even the name sounds bad._

"Exactly. Do you understand how important this is? Please… lead me to the Allspark. Once it's secure, I will scour the desert until we find Kenobi. This I vow with all my spark."

Artoo decided now was the perfect opportunity to experiment with a sigh, and he drew in a great intake of air with his fans before expelling it in a satisfying whoosh. _All right… fine. But the instant we find the Allspark, we go after Kenobi, you hear?_

"I hear you." She nodded and folded herself down to her bike form, albeit without the false rider this time. "Hop on – and hold on tight. I don't slow down for any reason that's not life-threatening."

 _Including passengers falling off?_ Artoo quipped, and he scrambled into the seat and wrapped his digits around the handlebars. _I think we're gonna get along just fine, Arcee._

"We'll see about that," she noted, and with a roar she surged away, kicking up a cloud of sand in their wake. Artoo gave an exultant squeal as they tore off into the growing dusk.

* * *

 _Well, that could have gone a LOT better,_ Luke thought, kicking a rock out of his way as he stomped out of the farmhouse. So much for thinking that the acquisition of two new droids would soften his uncle toward letting him attend the Academy this season. From the way he'd reacted, one would think he'd asked him to cut off an arm, not let his nephew further his education and actually have a life beyond Anchorhead.

 _It's only one more season, he says… well, that's what he said LAST time. And what he'll say after the end of this season… Biggs is right. I'm never getting out of here._

Part of him thought about just packing a bag, hopping aboard his Vita, and taking off on his own without his uncle's permission. He could always hitch a ride on a freighter, trading passage for labor, and submit his application from whatever spaceport he ended up at. But such a stunt would devastate his aunt and uncle… and despite his itch to get off Tatooine and his annoyance with Owen, he still cared about them and didn't want to break their hearts like that.

He ascended the stairs out of the courtyard… and froze, jaw dropping almost to his chest.

Something huge stood beside the power relay not far from the farmhouse – a metallic form easily nine feet high, if not more, covered in a mishmash of metallic parts that glittered in the evening sun. Even from this distance he could hear the whir and grind of joints and pistons as it moved, suggesting that this was some sort of oversized droid rather than an unusually large alien in armor. Its back was to him, and it seemed to not even realize he was there, its gaze focused on something at its feet.

He only had a few seconds to gawk at the thing before it shifted before its eyes. Its body compacted and twisted, lowering to the ground until a mechanical creature no longer stood near the relay, but a low-slung violet vehicle…

 _That's my bike… my bike is a droid! Some kind of transforming droid! What in the name of everything…_

A second droid, much shorter than the first but with the same piecemeal look to its plating and with mismatched optical sensors, leaped aboard the bike, and it roared off into the sunset, the rider squealing the entire time… a squeal that sounded all too familiar…

 _Artoo!_

His first impulse was to scream for Uncle Owen, but he swallowed it back – if he ran back to the farmhouse blathering nonsense about their new astromech stealing his new bike and both machines being some kind of shapeshifting mechanisms, he'd get laughed at or worse for telling stories. Instead he turned and strode toward the workshop. If there was one being here who'd have answers, it was the other new machine on the farm.

For some inexplicable reason, Threepio was lying flat on the floor when Luke jogged down the stairs, his optics flickering online and a soft groan issuing from his vocalizer. Luke didn't bother to ask if he was all right, just hauled him to a sitting-up position and shook him.

"Ooohhh, my head…" Threepio groaned.

"Never mind that!" Luke retorted. "When were you going to tell me Artoo was some kind of shapeshifter?"

"W-w-what?" Threepio bleated. His head swiveled from side to side as he took in his surroundings. "Artoo… Artoo-Deeto! Oh, that infernal little menace shocked me from behind! I'm going to give him a piece of my processor for this!"

"You didn't answer the question!" Luke insisted.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Master Luke," Threepio replied, his voice hanging somewhere between anger at his comrade and nervousness at Luke's demand. "He has never exhibited shapeshifting abilities before." His head cocked at an angle that managed to convey utter bafflement. "Sir… might I inquire what's going on?"

Luke sighed. "Artoo turned into some kind of battle droid and stole my bike. Which apparently is ALSO a shape-changing droid!"

Threepio groaned. "I regret asking."

Luke pulled Threepio to his feet, then charged up the stairs, grabbing his macrobinoculars from his belt. He made a quick sweep of the horizon, but by this point both Artoo and the Vita were long gone.

"Argh… he's nowhere in sight." He hooked the device back to his belt. "The Sandpeople come out in force by night, so we're going to have to wait until morning to find them. I'll have to find some excuse to borrow Uncle Owen's speeder."

"My most sincere apologies, Master Luke… I should have kept a closer eye on him. I had no idea he would attempt something of this magnitude of stupidity."

"No, it's not your fault," Luke assured the droid. "Still… that little droid's gonna get me in a LOT of trouble."

"Oh, he excels at that, sir," Threepio replied.

Luke cast one last look at the horizon, worry churning his gut. What would an astromech droid want with a hoverbike anyhow? And who would design an astromech with the ability to switch between two different forms? Or a hoverbike, for that matter? Was this some kind of prototype that had escaped the lab? Or was he just going crazy from all the stress recently?

One thing was for sure – when he caught up with Artoo again, he was slapping that restraining bolt back on and welding it tight. This was the last time that little droid was going to make a fool of him.

* * *

Luke Skywalker was not the only one to witness Arcee and Artoo's rendezvous… and as they streaked off into the desert night, two pairs of scarlet optics tracked their passage. Sensitive audials had picked up the gist of their conversation, and even if half of said conversation had been in a terribly outdated language, the listener was conversant enough in said language to catch most of it. And what the listener had learned was most interesting indeed.

The Allspark was here. It was here, and it was close. And even better, a native had stumbled onto it and made us of it, proving that the legendary artifact worked just as Megatron had promised.

Barricade emerged from the shadows of an abandoned, burned-out homestead, his spiked black-and-silver form already arranging itself into the long, low-slung shape of a military landspeeder. Holograms flared to life within his interior, taking the shape of four white-armored stormtroopers and a squad leader with a jet-black shoulder pauldron. There was no hiding the angular crest on his hood… but then, any organics who looked closely would simply assume it was a garrison symbol, and not question too much. No one ever did when it came to the humans' silly Empire, it seemed.

Disguise completed, Barricade slid effortlessly into the night, trailing Arcee and her unlikely passenger as they hunted for the Allspark.


	6. Triple Threat

_Well, so much for thinking this would be simple._

Artoo and Arcee stood on the dusty canyon floor, regarding the heap of broken rock before them. At some point after Artoo's accidental discovery of the artifact, a rockslide had struck this portion of the canyon, blocking off the cave entrance. One might call it ill-timed coincidence, but Artoo was annoyed enough by this latest delay in his mission to call it deliberate sabotage – by whatever force governed the universe if nothing else. Seriously, could nothing go smoothly on this planet?

"You're sure this is the place?" Arcee asked, stooping to pick up a rock.

 _Positive. The rockslide wasn't here, though. Someone must've gotten here before us and decided to keep us from getting to it._

"It doesn't matter," she assured him. "We know where it is. Moving a little rock is simple enough." She turned the stone over in her metallic fingers, inspecting it before tossing it aside. "It's simply a relief to know where it is after all this time."

 _Good for you._ He meant it sincerely, though speaking in Binary meant it was hard to add inflection to his speech. He just hoped it hadn't come out snarky. _Now about your end of the deal…_

"Yes… finding this Kenobi. Do you have any sort of coordinates?"

 _Yes, but just for a general area, not an exact location. I could search on treads or foot, but it'd be faster with someone with a little thruster power, you know?_

Arcee sighed, shutters sliding down to obscure her optics for a moment. "The things I get myself into…" The shutters opened, and she gave a nod. "All right. We'll do a systematic search of the area and see what we can find. Are your scanners calibrated to pick up organic life forms?"

 _They are. Aren't yours?_

"Not under normal circumstances – we haven't had dealings with organics in many vorns – but I can adjust them." She folded back down into her hoverbike form. "Get on. And don't expect too many rides from here on out, all right? Once we find Kenobi we're scanning a faster alt mode for you, if we can find one in your size."

Artoo scrambled up into the seat and gripped the handlebars. _Once we find Kenobi I'm going with HIM to Alderaan. I don't know what this "we" stuff is you're talking about, unless you have a voorpak in your compartments._

"Really?" Confusion colored Arcee's voice. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me to the Autobots? No offense, but… now that you've been touched by the Allspark, I don't think you'd fit in anywhere else."

 _I have a mission, Arcee. And I'll be slagged if I give up and run before it's finished. Now let's motor – we're burning daylight._

She gave a little chuckle at that. "For being an organic-constructed mechanism, you sure are a funny character. Hang on tight, all right?"

Artoo tweeted affirmatively, and Arcee's engines rumbled as she prepared to drive away… but a sudden burst of dust and rock just ahead of them cut their departure off before she could do more than lurch to a start. She braked hard, nearly catapulting Artoo over her handlebars.

 _Watch it!_

"We've got company!"

Artoo glanced up… and felt his internals go cold. Not Jawas, thank the Maker, but still just as bad. Tall masked humanoids, swathed from head to foot in ragged wrappings and with the protective lenses and air filtration devices set in their facial coverings resembling snarling faces, they lined the lip of the canyon, hooting and roaring in destructive glee. Some waved sand-pitted, wicked-looking axes in the air, while others pointed stolen blasters or projectile weapons down at the unlucky intruders.

 _Tusken Raiders!_

"Dangerous?"

 _Extremely. Can't you make a break for it?_

"I doubt they're going to let us," Arcee replied balefully.

Bullets and blaster fire peppered the dirt all around them. None of the shots came close to hitting them, but Artoo figured that had less to do with the Sandpeople being lousy shots and more to do with them trying to pen the two droids in, preventing their escape. Did they not realize that their quarry was mechanical? Or did they just not care, figuring one handy subject for target practice was as good as another?

Before he could process that thought further, Arcee lurched beneath him. He fell to the hard-packed dirt with a squeal, and barely managed to roll away before a pair of boot-like black feet slammed into the earth. The Autobot rose, her body unfurling like an opening flower, servos and pistons bracing for battle even as components clicked and locked in place. A weapon of some sort – what looked like a Wookie bowcaster – flared wing-like limbs open, and a small missile settled itself into the flight groove in place of the usual bolt or energy quarrel.

"Run!" Arcee ordered, raising the crossbow. "Get to cover! I'll handle this!"

Artoo didn't stop to ask stupid questions – he scurried behind a cluster of rocks.

The Sandpeople stared blankly at Arcee for a moment, and idly Artoo wondered what they made of a human vehicle suddenly transforming into a three-meter battle droid. Then one of them hooted an order, and they opened fire again. Arcee barely winced as bullets pinged against her armor and laser fire glanced past her, and she released a missile in the Raiders' direction. It slammed against the canyon wall directly beneath them, and they retreated with panicked howls.

 _You missed!_

"That was a warning shot," Arcee replied, cocking the weapon so another missile slid into place. "Just to scare them off. I don't want to hurt organics if I can help it."

 _I don't think they're going to extend the same courtesy to us!_

"They're probably just scared," Arcee insisted. "I mean, wouldn't YOU be frightened seeing intruders in your territory- oh slag, they're coming back!"

Artoo ducked back behind the rock as blaster and rifle fire filled the canyon again. The screech and BOOM of another missile shook the air, but the gunfire and wild roaring of the Sandpeople continued unabated. His olfactory sensors tingled with the smell of fresh oil and some kind of plasma-ish substance he couldn't identify, and he wondered just how badly his new comrade was damaged. Scrap it, she was going to get herself killed out there!

He was tensing up to spring out with his newfound energy prod blazing, ready to come to Arcee's defense, when an eerie howl reverberated up and down the canyon. It sent a shiver up and down his spinal strut and a chill settling in the very core of his internal reactor. He was far from the only one affected by it – Arcee's aquamarine optics flared in surprise, and the Tusken Raiders' heads turned toward the cry in unison in a manner that would have been comical under other circumstances.

Another weird howl rippled through the air, and movement flickered at the end of the canyon. Shadows danced on the canyon wall… shadows of something of an indeterminate size but of a shape that looked far too ominous for Artoo's liking.

Evidently it was too ominous for the Sandpeople to handle as well – with shouts and wails of fright they scattered, some dropping guns and gaderffi axes in their haste to escape. The heavy thump and shuffle of bantha feet against rock and earth signaled their departure.

Arcee made no move to run, but she swiveled to aim her crossbow at the source of the noise. A steady trickle of black fluid ran down her left thigh, and a second trickle of electric blue marred her chest, but she seemed oblivious to her own damages.

"Artoo, do you know what that is?"

 _Not a clue. I don't carry a catalogue of this planet's fauna in my databanks._

The source of the howls and shadows finally rounded the bend in the canyon… and Artoo almost burst out in twittering laughter. It was just some weather-beaten traveler, a human man in a worn brown robe whose hood obscured most of his features. Artoo caught a glimpse of a white-bearded chin and wind-chapped lips, but that was hardly enough to identify the newcomer by. He just hoped that whoever this was meant well…

Then the man raised weathered hands to pull the hood back, and Artoo felt his CPU stutter. This face was far older than the one his databanks held – worn and gray and battered by both age and Tatooine's vicious elements – but there was no mistaking those features or those silver-blue eyes.

Somehow he had gone out to find General Kenobi… but instead General Kenobi had found him.

"Hello there!" Kenobi called out, seeming completely unperturbed by the towering violet-and-black battle droid aiming a bowcaster in his direction. "Are the two of you all right?"

Arcee slowly lowered the crossbow, but Artoo could still feel the tension radiating from her frame.

"Come here, my friends," he went on, a gentle smile on his face. "You don't have to be afraid."

Artoo hesitated, but in the end he stepped forward to greet the General. This was his objective, after all – to find Kenobi and ensure he made it to Alderaan safely. Sure, he'd hit a speedbump or two along the way, but all was well that ended well, right?

"Are you Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Arcee asked, cocking her head to the side.

Kenobi's smile didn't face, but somehow it took on a wistful angle. "Obi-Wan Kenobi… now there's a name I haven't heard in a long, long time. I haven't gone by that name since... well, since around the time the Galactic Empire took root."

Artoo wanted to spill everything to Obi-wan at that moment – the Princess' capture, the importance of the plans nestled within his databanks, the dire state of the Rebellion and how much they needed the General to fix things – but he wasn't sure if he trusted Arcee with that information quite yet. Besides, for all he knew Kenobi didn't understand Binary. It was a common failing among humans, that it was so troublesome for them to learn new languages – a failing that at least kept protocol droids like Threepio relevant and out of the smelters, he supposed.

"You don't seem at all surprised to see us," Arcee noted, lowering herself to one knee to put herself closer to the General's level.

Obi-Wan looked up at her, his gaze lingering on the intricate plates of metal forming her chassis. "I admit that you two are unusual droids… and not simply because of your appearance. The living Force is strong with you two… much stronger than should be possible for ordinary droids." His gaze moved to Artoo now, and though his face was calm his eyes were alight with curiosity. "I sense that there is far more to you two than meets the eye."

Artoo turned to Arcee. _This is all well and good, but can you tell him I need to speak to him? Privately? I've got a message he needs to hear._

Arcee nodded. "Obi-Wan, I would love to tell you more about my kind and why we're here, but Artoo Detoo has an important message for you. He may look strange to you, but he used to be one of your human-built droids – an astromech, he says."

Artoo took that as his cue, and he quickly shifted back to his astromech form. Obi-Wan's eyes widened, and he looked like he would dearly love to inspect him in closer detail. But he shook his head and turned back to Arcee.

"If that's so, then we had better go somewhere safe. The Sandpeople are easily frightened off, but they'll soon be back in greater numbers."

Arcee nodded and stowed her bowcaster away, though Artoo couldn't quite puzzle out where she had stashed it. "I can take you wherever you need to go, but then I have to come back here. There's something in this canyon that I need to recover and get back to my commanding officer. I only wish I could help you two further."

Obi-Wan returned her nod. "You must do what is best for you, of course…" His voice trailed off, and he stared at a point just beyond the tall violet droid, eyes drifting out of focus.

"Sir?" Arcee's facial plates shifted in an approximation of a frown. "Artoo, is he all right?"

 _I'm not a medical droid,_ Artoo replied. _I haven't a clue. But Jedi tended to go funny like this from time to time when I worked with them. You just learn to work around it._

"What's a Jedi?" Arcee asked, just as Obi-Wan returned to himself with a shudder. His kindly, gentle expression had vanished, replaced by urgent concern.

"Did you come to this planet alone?" he asked.

"I came with a comrade, but he unfortunately perished during our arrival," Arcee replied. "My superiors were supposed to be right behind me."

"And any of your kind that may NOT be your comrades?"

Arcee's optics flared brightly. "Decepticons." Her bowcaster reappeared seemingly out of thin air, missile already armed. "How could they have found us so quickly?"

 _Decepti-what?_ Artoo demanded.

"Megatron's troops," she replied. "They're after the Allspark. Artoo, take Obi-Wan and run. I'll handle this."

"We won't leave you to fight your battle alone," Obi-Wan insisted, and he pulled his robe aside to reveal a silver hilt hanging from his belt. "I swore long ago to protect the innocent of the galaxy. Even if my Order is extinct, I haven't been released from that vow."

"I know you mean well," Arcee told him, looking down at him skeptically. "But you have no idea what you're up against. Now run!"

Before Obi-Wan could argue further, a jet-black landspeeder rounded the bend of the canyon. By all accounts it looked like a standard-issue Imperial transport, complete with a squadron of white-armored stormtroopers inside and an angular violet squadron insignia on the hood. Artoo blatted out a Binary curse word and fired up his energy prod. Of course the Empire would stumble onto them just when he was on the verge of completing his mission. Couldn't things just go simply for once?

Obi-Wan's silver-blue eyes flashed. "Those aren't stormtroopers."

"Holograms," Arcee replied, and without preamble she fired her crossbow. The speeder swerved to dodge, the projectile missing by a handspan and shattering a rock formation just behind it. The troopers within flickered and shimmered weirdly, distorted and riddled with blue circuit-like lines… then winked out entirely even as the vehicle picked up speed.

 _Oh slag, it's another one,_ Artoo processed, and then shrieked in fright as the vehicle burst apart in a jagged mess of metal. The droid that emerged from the speeder's shape was taller and bulkier than Arcee, with a more jagged and barbaric look to its armor and a fanged multi-opticed nightmare of a face. It gleamed black and silver in the harsh light of the double suns, clawed fingers and spiked plating glinting horribly. Incredibly, despite its sudden transformation it didn't even slow down – it simply went airborne, leaping at Arcee with claws bared and a deadly roar ripping from its engines.

"Barricade!" Arcee fired her crossbow again, but the bolt went wide and hit the lip of the canyon. Then the black mech was upon her, pinning her to the canyon floor and raking at her optics. She jammed her fingers into his shoulder joints in an attempt to escape, but if he felt any pain at the attack it didn't even slow him down.

Obi-Wan showed no sign of shock at Barricade's attack – it was as if he witnessed vehicles turning into giant robots every day. He simply unhooked the lightsaber from his belt, a sky-blue blade springing to life as he did so, and strode purposefully toward the grappling droids. Artoo wanted to shriek at him to go faster, but checked himself – the General wouldn't understand him anyhow, and at any rate a purposeful walk was probably as fast as he could manage at his age.

" _Where is it?!"_ Barricade thundered, slashing his claws across Arcee's face. _"Where is the cube?!"_

Arcee glowered through a cracked optic, faceplates drawn back in a snarl. "You'll never take it!"

"Tell me where it is!" he roared. "Or I'll rip you apart piece by piece!"

Obi-Wan reached Barricade's leg at that moment, the spike-tipped knee digging into the hard-packed earth beside Arcee. His saber bit deep into the knee joint, and Barricade howled and leaped to his feet. Arcee scrambled away and climbed to her feet, dripping fluids of several colors but ignoring her damages for the moment.

"Who…" Barricade glowered down at the old man, teeth bared in a sneer of disgust, smoke rising from the scorched wires and metal of his knee. "You dare interfere, you wretched organic…"

Obi-Wan regarded the savage droid a moment, then gave a slight smile and raised his hand. "You won't find what you're looking for here."

Barricade's features went blank, and his scarlet optics dulled. "I won't find what I'm looking for here," he intoned, voice flat.

"You really shouldn't pick on those smaller than you."

"I really shouldn't pick on those smaller than me," he repeated.

Obi-Wan made a shooing motion with one hand. "Go on now."

Barricade nodded and slowly collapsed back into his speeder mode. The holographic stormtroopers re-materialized in his cockpit as he turned and departed up the canyon. Arcee probably could have taken a shot at him right then and not missed… but she was too busy gaping, first at the departing speeder and then at Obi-Wan himself.

"How… the slag… did you do that? I thought… I thought there weren't telepaths among your kind."

Obi-Wan deactivated his saber and clipped it back to his belt. "It seems we each have a lot to learn about the other's kind, my dear."

"Arcee," she corrected. "Autobot Scout Arcee."

"Arcee," he repeated, nodding. "I would still be grateful for that ride you promised, if you are willing."

"For saving my life, it's the least I can do." She folded herself down to her hoverbike mode. "But I'm coming straight back here afterwards. If Decepticons are on this planet, it's more imperative than ever that we recover the Allspark before they find it."

"With any luck, we won't keep you from your mission long," Obi-Wan assured her as he swung himself aboard the bike. Artoo hopped on behind him, grabbing his roughspun robes for balance, and Arcee took off, kicking up a cloud of dust in her wake.

* * *

If Aunt Beru had been just a little less nosy, Luke thought, he could have avoided this mess and be out looking for Artoo and his bike right now. Not sitting in the kitchen on the receiving end of a lecture.

"I don't know what kind of games you're trying to play, Luke Skywalker," Owen growled, glaring at his nephew across the kitchen table, "but you're going to drop them now. Tell me the truth about what happened to your bike and stop making up stories."

"I'm telling the truth!" he insisted. "It and the new R2 unit turned into some kind of advanced droids and took off! They both left on their own!"

Owen half-sighed, half-growled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll buy the droid wandering off, especially if those Jawas didn't fasten the restraining bolt on right. But speederbikes don't just get up and walk away. Which of your idiot friends did you loan it to? Or did you not lock it up properly and let it get stolen? I told you it'd just be bait for a thief."

Luke turned to Beru. "Aunt Beru, you believe me, right?"

"Of course, dear," she replied in a tone that suggested the exact opposite.

Luke had intended to start searching for the wayward astromech droid at first light, before getting started on his chores. It should have been simple enough – ask to borrow his uncle's speeder and be off in a few minutes. But just as Owen had been about to give permission, Beru had poked her head in to inquire why Luke couldn't just use his own bike to run his errand. And when Luke had tried to brush her off by saying it was "unavailable," she hadn't been content to leave it at that but pressed for answers.

So here he was, trying to explain to his incredulous aunt and uncle that he had watched his bike and the family's new astromech turn into some kind of newfangled battle droids and ride off into the sunset together. He supposed he shouldn't be blaming them for being skeptical – blast, it sounded ridiculous coming out of his own mouth – but it didn't change the fact that the longer they kept him here, needling him for "the truth," the farther away the Vita and astromech were going… and the slimmer his chances of finding them again.

"Look, if I can just borrow your 'speeder and go out to look for them, I'll bring them back and show you the truth," Luke insisted. "Come on, why would I lie about this?"

"I knew you getting that fancy bike was only going to cause trouble," Owen grumbled, ignoring his question. "I should have made you pick something a little more sensible. But no, you had to waste your hard-earned money AND mine-"

"Owen, honestly," Beru scolded. "Like you haven't ever done anything foolish when you were young! Don't you think Luke feels bad enough about what's happened?"

"Not bad enough if he has to lie about shapeshifting droids to cover up his mistake," Owen retorted.

Luke groaned and pushed himself to his feet. "Fine, don't believe me! Can I STILL borrow the speeder? I have to find that bike and that astromech-"

Beru held up her hand to silence the conversation. Luke might have pressed on regardless, determined to get his uncle to cave in, but something about the way she looked meaningfully out the door made him hold his tongue. Only then did he hear the _clump_ of metallic boots on the stairs leading down to the courtyard… the boots of stormtroopers.

 _We must've been so busy arguing we didn't hear their speeder pull up,_ he realized, and his gut clenched. He tried to settle it by drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. They were all just farmers, they'd done nothing against Imperial laws, all they had to do was cooperate with whatever these soldiers wanted and they'd be left alone…

 _Oh no… what if they caught Biggs? Or if they're here trying to find him? I could be in BIG trouble… though how can it be a crime just listening to someone talk about the Rebellion? It's not as if I told him I'd join…_

"What the hell do they want?" snapped Owen, pushing himself to his feet. "We pay their suns-blasted taxes, we don't harbor undesirables, we don't have dealings with the Hutts…"

"Just be civil to them when they talk to you," Beru ordered. "Maybe they're just here to talk."

"They're never just here to talk," Owen muttered, then clenched his jaw shut as three stormtroopers marched right into the kitchen. One, wearing the orange shoulder pauldron of a squad commander, strode directly toward Owen, while the other two hung back at the door, guns held to their chests, faces inscrutable behind their eternally-scowling helmets.

"Owen Lars," the officer barked, voice slightly fuzzy with distortion through his helmet's speakers.

"That I am," Lars replied, ice creeping into his voice. "What's the problem, sir? We were just getting ready to start our day's work."

"We won't keep you long," the officer replied. "Just answer a couple of questions for us and we'll be on our way."

Luke struggled to control the leaden feeling in his innards. This wouldn't take long, he told himself. They just had to assure these guys that they'd seen and done nothing untoward and let them go on their way. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen, and there was no way to stop it… only to know when to act and hope for the best.

"You must use droids to help with your work around here," the officer noted with badly forced casualness. "Have you purchased any recently? Perhaps from the Jawas?"

Owen frowned. "Since when did the Empire start tracking our personal spending? Is it somehow a crime to own too many droids? You already restrict owning blasters-"

"Just answer the question, sir."

 _He already knows the answer,_ Luke thought, though how he knew he couldn't be certain. _Owen, just tell him the truth…_

"Oh, Master Luke, whatever is taking so long? We should have been gone by now! Artoo could be absolutely anywhere at this rate!"

Threepio had the absolute suckiest timing in the universe, Luke decided, as the golden protocol droid came shuffling into the kitchen at that moment. He drew to a halt upon spotting the troopers, and whatever else he had to say next died on his vocalizer.

"Oh no." The words were soft, yet laden with dread.

"There's one." The officer gestured sharply toward his comrades. "Secure that one, then find the other."

Threepio flung his hands into the air. "Don't shoot! I surrender!"

"You can't just confiscate my property without due cause!" Owen snapped. "This is outright theft, plain and simple!"

The officer dropped a gloved hand to his holster. "If you don't cooperate, sir, I will be forced to take you into custody."

"Owen, calm down," urged Beru, her face bleaching to near-white.

"I will NOT calm down!" Owen retorted. "These Imperials think they can march in here like they own the place, invade our privacy, take what's rightfully ours-"

Something seemed to burst open in Luke's chest at that moment, a blaze of cold fear that sent ice through his veins. It was happening… everything was going to fall apart within seconds, and he was powerless to stop it. He couldn't explain how he knew it – he just KNEW. And somehow, that was worse than what came next.

The squad commander reached out to grab Owen's arm, no doubt to arrest him. Owen responded by planting both hands into the man's chest and shoving him back… and that prompted the other two stormtroopers to raise their guns.

The crack of blaster fire almost drowned out Beru's screams. Almost, but not quite.


	7. Disturbances

Laserbeak couldn't understand why Frenzy was so intent on following the black-armored human around. Sure, it had been entertaining to indulge him for a short time, one or the other of them tailing Darth Vader through the corridors of the space station, Laserbeak aiding the human during his interrogation sessions and Frenzy keeping tabs on his location whenever possible. But he had figured his comrade would lose interest soon enough. Frenzy had his queer obsessions, but he also possessed an attention span as great as Starscream's loyalty to Megatron.

But Frenzy's keen interest in Vader didn't ebb – if anything, it seemed only to intensify as time went on. Which was how the two of them found themselves on the bridge of the spherical space station, Frenzy crouched in mouse-droid form and Laserbeak huddled beneath an out-of-order computer terminal in his root mode. The avian-shaped Decepticon growled his discomfort, but Frenzy ignored him.

"This had better be worth it," Laserbeak snarled.

" _Sssssshhh!"_ Frenzy hissed, rocking back and forth on his wheels. "You wanna blow our covers, bird-processor?"

"You're the one who's made stalking the Black One a hobby," Laserbeak retorted, though he did lower his volume a few notches. "Why do I have to be dragged into this?"

Frenzy hissed and jittered back and forth on his wheels. Laserbeak grumbled but settled himself and peered at the tableau unfolding on the bridge – a quiet but tense drama with the Black One, the white-garbed female, and a gaunt gray male with the imperious air of one of the old Cybertron nobles.

"Governor Tarkin," the female noted, voice calm and proper even as it brimmed with steel. "I should have expected to find you holding onto Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench the moment I was brought aboard."

"Oooooooh, burn," Frenzy muttered, cackling softly. Laserbeak delivered a _"ssssshh_ " of his own before returning his attention to the humans. She was a fine one to talk, though – all humans smelled terrible.

The cadaverous Tarkin barely cracked a smile at the insult. "Charming to the last, Your Highness. You have no idea how much it pained me to sign the order for your execution."

Now that got Laserbeak's attention. He clacked his beak in anticipation. It had been too long since he'd gotten to witness a proper execution. And even if organic deaths tended to be far messier than Cybertronian deaths… well, that was part of the fun.

The Black One – Vader, Laserbeak surmised, though he saw no evidence of a leash on the man – shifted restlessly behind the female, like a predator readying itself to pounce. It was difficult to read the emotions of one who wore a mask, but he seemed to exude a growing sense of impatience as Tarkin and "Your Highness" exchanged further barbs and insults. Laserbeak could hardly blame him. If this was to be an execution, why didn't they just get on with it?

This Vader… he was a conundrum neither Laserbeak nor Frenzy seemed to be able to come to terms with, a walking contradiction. The Decepticons had encountered plenty of organic and cybernetic life forms in their conquest of worlds, and even some technorganic species that were a clever mix of the two. Vader was different, though – a creature born organic who had taken on robotic components by either choice or necessity. And that baffled them… and fascinated Frenzy, while Laserbeak found himself grudgingly growing more curious despite his best efforts.

 _It's not a perfect combination,_ he noted, giving the cyborg a quick sweep with his scanners. _Sloppy, and his organic bits haven't been maintained very well. Still… we've never seen the like of it before. If we ever do find Megatron, he'll want to know of this creature…_

The female's voice cut into his thoughts, her tone high with pathetic distress, and Laserbeak shook his head and returned his attention to her and Tarkin. He'd been so distracted in his study of Vader that he'd lost the thread of the conversation.

"You can't do this!" she cried. "Alderaan is peaceful! We have no weapons! You can't possibly-"

"You would prefer another target?" Tarkin demanded. "A military target? Then name the system!" His eyes narrowed, and he stalked closer to the trembling female.

"I grow tired of asking, so this shall be the last time. Where. Is the location. Of the Rebel Base?" He deliberately spaced that question out, as if addressing a hatchling.

The female's eyes – slick, disgusting orbs of flesh that always made Laserbeak's circuits curl in revulsion when he looked upon them – were locked on the blue-and-white planet hanging outside the vast viewscreen as she spoke, her voice heavy with defeat.

"Dantooine… they're on Dantooine."

Tarkin's lips curled in a smirk. "There, you see, Lord Vader? She can be reasonable." He cast a gloating look at the Black One, who glared back with such anger that Laserbeak wondered how Tarkin could miss it.

The female went limp with relief… then jerked as Tarkin spoke again: "Continue with the operation. You may fire when ready."

"What?!"

"You're far too trusting," Tarkin gloated. "Dantooine is far too remote to make an effective demonstration of the Death Star's power. But don't worry – we'll deal with your Rebel friends soon enough."

"No!" Leia lunged forward, only for a black-sheathed steel hand to grip her shoulder and pull her back.

Frenzy buzzed irritably. "When're they gonna stop blatherin' and get on with the termination? I'm dyin' to see some action."

"Hush," Laserbeak ordered. "Something's happening here… something greater than an execution. Wait and see."

"I've waited long enough, I want some fresh oil spilled," Frenzy grumbled. "Or ichor or whatever these organics got in place of it."

Before Laserbeak could form a good retort, the station thrummed with power around them. A spear of green light shot toward the planet on the viewscreen…

The transparisteel that sealed the windows of the Death Star must have been charged to automatically polarize during an explosion to protect its occupants' visual organs. Likewise, both Frenzy and Laserbeak's optics were calibrated to automatically adjust to sudden changes in light levels. Despite both these precautions, however, the two Decepticons were nearly blinded by the terrific blast, one that scattered molten rock and superheated gasses in a magnificent, terrible blossom across the black of space. It silhouetted Tarkin, Vader, and their captive and seemed to bleach all color from everything on the bridge.

Frenzy gave a low whistle. "That's better'n a termination, full stop."

"By the Allspark," murmured Laserbeak.

The female wilted like a mercury blossom, collapsing in a heap on the bridge. Vader gestured sharply to two white-armored soldiers, who strode forward and stooped to collect her.

"Take her to her cell," Vader ordered, his mechanically augmented voice devoid of any awe or horror or disgust he might have felt. "We will deal with her later."

"Yes," Tarkin added, a thin smile on his corpselike face. "Let us appreciate the beauty of this moment. Alderaan is a thorn in the Empire's side no longer, and the entire galaxy now knows the full power of the Death Star… and that we have the courage to use it if we must."

Vader leveled a stare at Tarkin that made Laserbeak glad it wasn't leveled at him… but Tarkin continued to gaze out at the ruins of the planet, blatantly ignoring the Black One. With a snarl the cyborg turned and strode off the bridge, cloak billowing behind him like a set of half-furled wings.

Laserbeak, for his part, shifted from foot to foot as he pondered the implications of this. A planet-wreaking superweapon… even Megatron, for all his military prowess, had never dared to dream of such a weapon. True, he was far more inclined to conquer worlds than destroy them outright, but such a weapon could still serve as a powerful intimidation tactic. And it wasn't as if their esteemed leader was above pilfering advanced technology from lesser creatures…

 _One thing at a time,_ he reminded himself. _Find Megatron first, then inform him of this Death Star._ One thing was for sure – their next report to Soundwave was going to be very interesting indeed…

* * *

Arcee couldn't help but marvel at how she seemed to attract strays and misfits wherever she went. Even on this mission to find the Allspark – a mission that would ultimately decide the fate of her kind – life forms needing her help in some manner seemed to naturally gravitate toward her. And yet she just couldn't find it in her to drive them away. If it was in her power to aid them somehow, how could she say no?

"There!" Obi-Wan called out over the roar of her engine and the tearing wind, releasing her handlebar to point to a dun-colored lump on the horizon. "My house! You may drop us off there!"

"Will do." She turned slightly to avoid a tangle of thorny vegetation before redirecting her course toward the human's domicile. "Is there anything else the two of you need?"

 _We can take care of ourselves from here, Arcee,_ Artoo noted from his perch behind Obi-Wan. _You watch out, all right? I have a feeling that freaky black droid's going to be back._

"I'll be careful, small one," she replied with a slight laugh. Truth be told, she was going to miss the cheeky little "astromech." And she felt a deep pang of guilt at leaving him without helping him properly adjust to his new status as a Cybertronian. Not to mention that she still felt indebted toward Obi-Wan for saving her life, and just driving him home seemed a poor way to repay that.

Still, they had their own destiny to pursue, and she hers. Perhaps their paths would cross later, but for now their fates lay on different paths.

They were less than a kilometer from their destination – a worn ferrocrete building with walls pitted and grayed from decades of wind and sun – when Obi-Wan gave a pained grunt and doubled over her handlebars. Artoo squealed, thumping his hands against Arcee's chassis.

"I know, I know!" She braked as fast as she dared, not wanting to throw the man off and injure him when he was obviously in distress already. "Obi-Wan, are you all right?"

The human didn't reply, just remained hunched over her steering column, drawing in deep shuddering breaths. Arcee deeply wished Ratchet was around – he had experience with organic creatures and could tell them what was wrong.

 _He just nodded,_ Artoo reported. _I think he'll be okay. Thank the Maker, I thought he was having a myocardial infarction._

"I have no idea what you just said," Arcee replied. "I didn't know you were a medical mech."

 _I'm not, you just learn a few things if you hang out with humans long enough. Or bother to make conversation with medical droids…_

"There's trouble," Obi-Wan said at last, sitting up. "Where, I don't know, but there's great trouble. The situation is far worse than I realized."

"What do you mean?" Arcee asked.

"I felt… a great disturbance in the Force," he replied. "As if millions of voices cried out in terror… and were suddenly silenced."

Arcee felt a tremor ripple through her frame, and scowled inwardly at her own chill of fear. She liked to think of herself as a sensible femme, not putting much stock in premonitions of the future. Sure, there were beings with unusual abilities out there, telepaths or outliers gifted with powers beyond the imagining of normal mechanisms or organic creatures, but clairvoyance was a power that had never been proven to her satisfaction. Obi-Wan had probably just suffered a moment of vertigo, or some other organic malady.

And yet… something about the gravity in his words almost made her want to believe…

 _Well, whatever happened, we're not gonna reverse it by just sitting here!_ Artoo chirped. _Let's get to Mos Eisley and get a ride off this rock! We've got to get to Alderaan, fast!_

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. "If that's even possible anymore, my little friend."

 _Wait, you aren't implying…_ began Artoo.

Words broke in over the Autobot frequency at that moment, yanking her attention away from anything Ob-Wan might have said in reply:

 _All Autobots report in! Repeat, all Autobots report in!_

It took all Arcee's strength to not whoop in sheer joy and relief at those words. She had begun to wonder if she was alone on this planet. But at least one other Autobot had made it!

"Obi-Wan, Artoo, I need to take this call."

"By all means," Obi-Wan told her. "Do what you must."

 _Scout Arcee reporting! Repeat, Scout Arcee reporting!_

 _Arcee! Where the frag are you at? You're WAY off from the designated rendezvous point!_

 _It's good to hear from you too, Ironhide_ , she retorted. _But forget about the rendezvous point! I've found it! The Allspark!_

 _That ain't a joking matter, Arcee._

 _I'm not joking! I can't give you coordinates at the moment – we don't know who's listening in – but I know where it is!_

Ironhide was silent a moment, yet in that silence Arcee could almost hear his disbelief. _Get your aft to the rendezvous point and report it, then. Optimus Prime'll want to hear this._

Arcee's spark lurched in its chamber. _Optimus made planetfall?_

 _I did indeed._ That voice, a notch deeper than Ironhide's and heavy with gentle authority, broke in over the Autobot channel. _I'll take over from here, Ironhide._

Ironhide grumbled just low enough to be unintelligible, but said nothing more.

 _Optimus Prime… the Cube is here,_ Arcee insisted softly. _You have to believe me._

 _I want to believe you, Scout Arcee,_ Prime replied, and though his voice was gentle, there was a sense of despair in it that she had never heard before. _But at this time, with our forces spread so thin… I don't dare give our troops any more false hope. Did you see the Allspark with your own optics?_

 _No,_ she admitted, _but I know its location. And I have the word of a trusted mechanism._

 _Who is this "trusted mechanism?" Is Tailgate with you?_

 _He… he didn't survive the journey. And it's a long story. I'll give a full report at the rendezvous point._

 _Very good. Ironhide and Bumblebee are already there. Jazz and I are currently en route… uh-oh._

 _Uh-oh? Optimus, nobody wants to hear that out of their commanding officer!_

 _Just meet us at the rendezvous point. I'll be slightly delayed._ And he cut the connection.

Arcee swore long and creatively, earning a squeak from Artoo and a comforting pat to the steering column from Obi-Wan.

"Is something wrong, Arcee?"

"There's trouble," she replied. "With my commander. He could be in serious danger."

 _Drop us off fast, then,_ Artoo advised. _Then go! Don't let us hold you back!_

Obi-Wan was silent, fingers tightening on the handlebars, his breath hitching in his throat. Was he having another of his "premonitions?" Then the elderly human nudged her chassis with a heel.

"Go to your commander, then," Obi-Wan ordered. "We'll help you however we can."

"I don't think humans can help with this," Arcee protested. "He could be under attack by Decepticons! You could be hurt, badly! And I don't even know where he is – he transmitted no coordinates!"

"I'll direct you," Obi-wan assured her. "I believe I know where he is… and if I'm right, then we must hurry before more innocents are hurt."

* * *

The Lars homestead lay in ruins, smoke belching out of the courtyard, the domed entryway shattered like an eggshell. Uncle Owen's landspeeder and Luke's Skyhopper were flaming husks of their former selves, and equipment and crates of supplies, many charred beyond recognition, were strewn across the hard-packed sand in every direction. Even Aunt Beru's malfunctioning Treadwell repair droid had been dismantled and scattered to the winds, its chassis spitting a last few sparks as if fighting to maintain its hold on its artificial life.

Luke's gaze moved over the wreckage, but his brain refused to process it. He couldn't feel anything at the sight – horror, revulsion, grief… anything. He could barely even feel the gauntleted hands gripping his arms, or the cuts and bruises inflicted by the squad commander. It was as if his ability to sense pain of any sort had been switched off the moment he saw Uncle Owen take a plasma blast to the chest.

The squad commander lashed out, cracking a blow across Luke's jaw. His head reeled back, and he would have collapsed had the stormtroopers on either side of him not been holding him upright.

"I'm only going to ask this one more time," the officer snarled. "Where's the other droid? Where have you hidden it?"

Luke coughed, blood spraying out of his mouth from a nasty cut inside his cheek where a broken tooth had cut into the flesh. "I… I told you… I don't know. It ran off… I was going to go look for it when you guys showed up and…" He couldn't go on.

The commander cocked his head to one side. "I don't believe you." Another blow to the stomach doubled Luke up, though his captors yanked him upright in a hurry. "You farm rats are all the same – you get some kind of sick thrill out of flouting Imperial laws, playing at being Rebel sympathizers. Well, that's going to prove a costly game." He drew his pistol. "And when we're done making examples out of you and your family, your friends are going to toe the line a little more closely from here on out."

Luke kept his gaze on the ground, watching with odd detachment as blood dripped from his wounds and dotted the sand. _Just get it over with,_ he thought grimly. _You've already killed the last of my family… just kill me and get it over with…_

"Sir," the trooper on his right cut in, "vehicles approaching."

The squad commander gestured sharply toward Luke. "Cuff him and drop him by the droid. We'll take care of him later." He turned to the other troopers, barking orders. "Hold the perimeter! Make sure they keep going – if they get too close, shoot their drivers or their antigravs."

Luke's captors complied with alarming speed, binding his wrists and shoving him to the ground beside the offline form of Threepio. Then the white-armored soldiers fanned out, forming an uneven line between the smoking farmhouse and the approaching vehicles. Sinuous lines of heat blurred and distorted their shapes somewhat, but one appeared to be a large blue-and-red ground transport of some kind, while the other was a bright silver airspeeder bearing the distinctive inverted-Y shape of a Skyhopper.

 _Maybe it's Biggs,_ Luke thought dazedly. _Maybe that's his Skyhopper, and he's bringing reinforcements to rescue us. Too late, Biggs buddy… I wish you'd been a few minutes earlier…_

For a moment it looked as if the two vehicles were going to pass them by. Then the big transport braked suddenly, as if the column of smoke had just caught the driver's eye… and the vehicle turned to barrel straight toward the homestead. It was a curious make of vehicle – a heavy-duty landspeeder, its blue chassis trimmed in vivid red, hauling a large silver cargo trailer in its wake. Its driver was just visible behind a tinted viewscreen, a mustached human with a dark visor over his eyes.

"Idiot," the commander snapped. "Open fire!"

Luke opened his mouth to shout a warning, but only a dry croak emerged as bright green plasma fire rained upon the vehicle. The landspeeder shuddered as if in pain… then detached from the trailer, leaving it to glide to a halt on its antigravs as the main vehicle unfolded. Limbs split out from the body, components slid and clicked into place in the rapidly-forming torso, a crowned helm with vivid blue eyes swung up to fix itself between broad shoulders…

 _Another one! Who's making these droids anyhow?_

The Skyhopper touched down nearby… on feet rather than proper landing gear. It, too, had changed shape, and even now its wings were clicking into their new places behind its shoulders. Horned and visored, with its oddly fragmented face wearing an expression that almost resembled a smile, it raised one clawed hand and offered the stormtroopers a jaunty wave.

"Dude, that's no way to greet a new friend," the silver droid scolded. "Not cool."

"Fire at will!" the commander howled. "Shoot them down!"

The blue-and-red giant raised his hand, his fingers retracting and the limb morphing into an enormous cannon that he leveled at the troopers. "Hold your fire… or you won't like the consequences."

The stormtroopers hesitated, some backing away. This was entirely outside their realm of experience, and it left them baffled and even frightened.

"I would rather not harm organics if I can help it," the droid rumbled, "but if you make another move to harm myself, my comrade, or an innocent, then you'll leave me with no choice. Leave the boy alone… or I will be forced to intervene."

The commander choked in terror. He leveled an accusing glare at Luke, as if he'd somehow summoned this monstrosity, then turned and bolted for the Imperial transport. His troops were right behind him, evidently deciding that if flight was good enough for their superior, it was good enough for them.

The silver droid cackled and rubbed his claws together. "A battle won w'thout a shot fired. I like that."

The red-and-blue droid simply watched the transport go. Only once it had vanished over the horizon did he retract his cannon and stride toward Luke. Luke squirmed away as best he could with his hands cuffed, but only made it a scant meter before the giant was crouched over him, the silver mask obscuring its face sliding aside to reveal its metallic face.

"Are you all right?"

Luke meant to reply, he really did… but every shock his mind and body had absorbed over the past half-hour had finally sunk in, and merciful blackness took over.


	8. Two Wars, One World

Luke stirred to awareness slowly, reluctantly. He didn't want to return to the real world, not right now. He didn't want to deal with the awfulness of recent events. The blessed relief of unconsciousness was far more tempting…

"No sign of internal injuries," a voice was saying, rough and deep with odd mechanical undertones. "Plenty of contusions and lacerations, though, which run the risk of infection…"

"I've cleaned them up as best I can," another voice replied, this one gentle and slightly crackled with age. "He should wake up soon… I'm sure he'll be all right."

"How can you say that?" This third speaker was female, with the same electronic inflections to their voice as the first but ringing with emotion nonetheless. "His home was wiped out by those monsters! And we found bodies in there! How can he possibly be all right after that?"

"Calm down, Arcee," the second speaker told her. "We won't know anything about his condition until he comes to…"

Luke decided he'd had enough of people discussing him as if he weren't even here, and he let out a loud, deliberate groan and moved to sit up. The chatter died down, replaced by an ecstatic beeping that he would have known anywhere.

"Artoo Detoo, settle down right now!" Threepio scolded. "You've caused enough trouble as it is! Now let Master Luke be!"

"At ease, little one," the second voice urged. "Don't overexcite him."

Luke opened his eyes… and blinked in surprise. "Ben? Ben Kenobi?"

The old hermit smiled, though it was a smile tinged with sadness. "Rest easy, Luke… you've had a difficult day of it. Don't push yourself if you don't think you can manage it."

Luke blinked the sleep from his eyes and let his gaze move from Kenobi to his surroundings. He lay on a sleeping pad on the ground in front of a run-down building, probably where Kenobi lived if he had to guess. The old man sat close by, tending a fire to chase off some of the deadly chill of night. Artoo and Threepio glittered in the firelight, the former keeping his optic locked on Luke, the latter fussing with a kettle hanging from a tripod over the fire. To any onlookers, they might have looked like nothing more than a family camping expedition.

Speaking of onlookers… his gaze moved beyond the firelight and to the towering forms in the darkness, blue optical sensors gleaming in the night.

"Ben…" He tried to scoot back.

"It's all right, Luke," Ben assured him. "They are friends. In fact, you're already familiar with one of their number."

A sleek shadow raised a slim hand and waved.

Luke's brain scrambled to make sense of Ben's statement… then realization hit. "You're the Vita… you're my bike!"

A feminine chuckle was his answer. "I'm not really your bike… it's just a handy disguise is all. Mind if I come into the light?"

"Um… sure, go ahead."

The droid stepped into the circle of firelight, gleaming black and violet and silver. She lowered herself to her knees and rested her hands on her legs, regarding Luke with a curious tilt of her head.

"You were a droid all this time…" Luke murmured.

"'Droid' is a bit of a misnomer," Ben pointed out. "These beings may be mechanical in nature, but they are just as alive and sentient as you and I. Our friend here has explained that the term 'mech' is preferable to droid among their kind."

"He's right," she replied. "But I'm not going to hold it against you if you keep saying 'droid.' I know you get used to something being one way and it's hard to shake it." She touched one black-armored hand to her chest. "My name is Arcee."

Luke nodded, still struggling to process everything. "I'm Luke. Luke Skywalker. But… I guess you know that already."

She nodded. "I was looking for someplace to stay undercover while I searched the area… and your home was convenient. I apologize if I made matters difficult for you… and that I wasn't there sooner to stop what happened. I… I'm very sorry."

Luke flinched at the memory of the stormtroopers, and the fire, and Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru taking those shots... No. He didn't want to think too hard about that. Not yet. Not when there was so much else to take in right now.

"So that little R2 unit's one of yours too?" he asked. "That whole belonging to Ben Kenobi story was a sham?"

Artoo whined and scooted closer to Arcee, as if embarrassed that he'd been caught in a lie.

"Artoo Detoo did not start out as one of us," a deeper voice cut in. "But that's a story for later." And another of the gigantic mechs stepped into the firelight… the scarlet and blue mech who had stormed the homestead and chased off the Imperials. Somehow, the darkness did nothing to detract from his size and commanding manner – if anything, the shadows and the firelight gleaming from his armor only lent an air of mystique to him that was hard to shake.

"Who…" began Luke.

"I am Optimus Prime," he intoned. "Leader of the Autobots – a faction of Cybertronians who are fighting to restore our homeworld and free it from the tyranny of Megatron. Our war has ranged far across known space... but has only recently come as far as the edge of your galaxy. We had not expected to come in contact with your people during the course of our fight, but sometimes fate has its own agenda."

"Sir, Luke is injured," Arcee cut in, turning toward her leader with an expression very close to a frown. "And he's still in shock from what happened earlier. Is now really the time for all this?"

"No… I want to hear it," Luke insisted. "If there's going to be giant sentient droids that can turn into vehicles tromping around on Tatooine, I'd like to know the how and why of it." He didn't add that he desperately needed the distraction, that if he dwelled too long on the deaths of his aunt and uncle he'd probably fall apart. Somehow he felt that if he let himself sink into grief, he'd never be able to climb back out.

Optimus Prime nodded, and despite his eyes being mechanical constructs, something about them seemed to soften in sympathy. "First, I believe further introductions are in order. You have already met myself, our scout Arcee, and our saboteur Jazz."

The winged silver mech stepped into the firelight and waved. "'Sup, Skywalker? Love the name – sounds like somethin' one of us would pick."

"Uh… thanks, I guess?" What else could he say?

Other mechs stepped forward, the ground vibrating slightly with their massive footfalls. Luke counted seven in all, each bearing fragmented plating that looked as if someone had cut apart some vehicle or other and repurposed it into makeshift suits of armor. Optimus Prime was easily the tallest, but none of the others were exactly slouches – even Arcee, the shortest of the lot, stood a good two-and-a-half meters tall. And all had their optical sensors fixed directly on Luke and Ben, some curious, others dismissive, and at least two with genuine concern.

"Our weapons technician, Ironhide."

The black mech, broad-shouldered and second only to Optimus himself in terms of size, whirred the cannons on his shoulders with a smug grin.

"Our medic, Ratchet."

A yellowish-green mech nodded at that. Luke couldn't help but thing that something about his facial features reminded him of a metallic Uncle Owen… and he jerked his thoughts away from that path.

"And two of our soldiers – Bumblebee and Sideswipe."

The bright yellow mech gave a friendly beep and waved, while the other mech, a shade of silver slightly darker than Jazz, just shrugged and folded his arms – no small feat given the enormous blades affixed to his forearms.

"And of course, you know Artoo and Threepio already," Ben added.

"Yeah… I know." Luke couldn't keep the hard anger out of his voice. If it hadn't been for those droids, his aunt and uncle might still be… He shook his head.

"I can assure you I have nothing whatsoever to do with these mechanisms!" Threepio insisted, looking up from tending the kettle. "Imagine, rearranging your components on a whim… I can barely keep my own parts straight, why would I want to shift about like that?"

Artoo blatted at him.

"Don't call me a rusty stick-in-the-mud, little traitor. I can hardly understand why YOU would want to join up with them! Though it'd be the sort of thing you'd be apt to do, wouldn't it?"

"It's not like he had a choice," Arcee cut in. "The Allspark doesn't exactly ask before it works its changes."

Luke frowned. "The Allspark?"

"It's an artifact our kind has been seeking for centuries," Ratchet put in, settling down just inside the circle of firelight. "Its origins are lost to us, but it has the power to give life to inanimate matter – either to bodies we've constructed for the express purpose of propagating our kind, or to mechanical devices created by others." He gestured to Artoo. "Or to robots built by other races, it seems."

The astromech tweeted cheerfully and rocked back and forth on his legs.

Optimus nodded. "We've tracked the Allspark's path to this galaxy… and if Arcee's intel is correct, to your world of Tatooine. It is our hope that we can retrieve it without doing further damage to your people… and before it falls into the wrong hands."

"Like the Galactic Empire's?" asked Luke. The Empire was far too strong as it was – the thought of them getting their slimy fingers on a device that could turn ordinary machines and vehicles into sentient beings chilled him to the core.

"Like Megatron's," Ironhide growled, cannons revving. "I dunno much about your G'lactic Empire, but I guarantee Megatron makes your Empire look like a kiddie gang in comparison."

"You do not know the Empire like we do," Ben told the black mech. "If they had knowledge of the Allspark, they would do anything to get their hands on it. And the consequences would be disastrous."

"Who's Megatron?" Luke asked.

"Only the nastiest, most sadistic mech in the known universe," Sideswipe piped up, brightening at the turn of discussion. "He's scary – they say he eats protoforms for breakfast, and he'd think nothing of squishing every last one of your kind under his feet!" He grinned and slid his arm blades against one another, the metallic hiss echoing through the night.

"Dial it down, rookie," Ironhide growled. "Save yer fire for an actual fight, will ya?"

"A mech can't be a little eager for some action?" Sideswipe retorted.

"Megatron wanted absolute dominion over the power of the Allspark," Optimus explained. "He wished to use it to conquer other worlds, and organized an army he dubbed the Decepticons to take it by force. The Autobots opposed him, and the resulting war decimated our homeworld… and in the end, the Autobot Council launched the Allspark into space to keep it safe."

Luke knew he should keep his mouth shut, but his response spilled out anyhow. "That was kind of a stupid thing to do, wasn't it? If the Allspark is what lets you make more of your kind, wouldn't that just mean you go extinct eventually?"

"Luke." Ben didn't raise his voice, but his tone was scolding. "They did what they believed was the best course of action. We've no right to criticize it."

"Well, I still think it was stupid," Luke insisted.

"Some of us think the same way," Arcee assured him. "We believed there had to be a better option. But the Council decided, and we have to live with the consequences."

Optimus nodded. "Megatron left his lieutenant, Starscream, in charge of the Decepticons and went in pursuit of the Allspark. Starscream in turn attacked and destroyed the Autobot Council… I was the sole surviving member." His optics dimmed in remembered grief, then flickered and resumed their normal brightness. "Most of our kind is now spread throughout the galaxy, searching for the Allspark that we may restore our homeworld. But Megatron's troops also seek it… and there is still Megatron himself to contend with."

Luke lay back on the pallet, mind whirling with excitement. A race of metal aliens from beyond their galaxy… an artifact with the ability to bring machines to life… a battle against an evil warlord… this was an adventure far beyond his wildest dreams! Sure, it wasn't the Rebel Alliance, but in its own way it was even better! And he'd just happened to fall right into the middle of it. Sure, he was just a tiny organic creature next to these Autobots, but surely they could use the help of someone like him.

And if it could take his mind off the homestead, so much the better.

"Can I help you guys somehow?" Luke asked. "I'm pretty familiar with a lot of the nooks and crannies of this area. Maybe I can help you search."

"Arcee claims to already have coordinates," Ratchet replied. "And besides, you're still wounded. Your body needs time and rest to repair itself."

"And we'd rather not endanger you if we can help it," Arcee added.

"But I want to help!" he insisted, sitting back up… and wincing as the movement sent shards of pain spiking through his skull. "You've gotta let me help! I'm already kinda involved, aren't I? I mean, I never would have met you guys if we hadn't bought Artoo and Arcee… ugh, that sounded bad, didn't it?"

"No offense taken," Arcee assured him. "You didn't know either of us were sentient creatures. But still… you've already been hurt once, and we weren't able to stop it. We don't want you in any more danger."

"They are right, Luke," Ben told him. "This war of theirs may have come to our world… but it is still their war. The best thing we can do to help them is to stay out of it. Especially when we've a war of our own going on at the moment."

Artoo shrieked and beeped insistently.

"Yes, yes, little one, I know you've been waiting patiently all this time." Ben beckoned the astromech over. "Do you mind if we take a moment to view a message, Optimus? This little droid has come a long way to deliver it."

"That's acceptable," Optimus replied. "We'll give you some space." He gestured to the Autobots, and they melted back into the shadows.

Luke stared after the mechs with a pang in his gut. The greatest thing to ever happen on this dirtball of a world, and it was fading into the night without him. It seemed that every time he attempted to make some kind of life for himself beyond this backwater planet, the opportunity was snatched away from him. And now… now he didn't even have the farm to look forward to…

Before he could dwell further on that, the holo of the white-garbed woman flickered to life before them. She gazed at something out of their view and spoke in polite but urgent tones.

" _General Kenobi, years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed._

" _I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. Many have died to secure this information and ensure it reaches your hands. You must see this droid safely delivered to Alderaan._

" _This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."_

The holo flickered out… and Luke was suddenly aware of three blue lights fixed on them. He gazed up to find Arcee's optics and Jazz's visor pointed their way.

"Oh, sorry," Jazz muttered, and he took Arcee by the shoulder and steered her back into the darkness.

"Obi-wan Kenobi… is that you?" Luke asked.

Ben – no, Obi-wan – nodded. "I haven't gone by that name since… oh, before you were born." He sighed and patted Artoo's dome. "Thank you, little friend… though I fear your message got here too late. I sense that something terrible has befallen our contacts on Alderaan, and many more besides."

Luke frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that it may no longer be possible to get Artoo to Senator Organa, as Leia originally planned." He gazed into the fire with a troubled look. "We must ensure this information reaches the proper hands… the question is how. The Rebel Alliance operates under the utmost secrecy for obvious reasons – it will be difficult to find them."

Luke perked up at that. Perhaps adventure – and the much-needed distraction from everything he had lost here – wasn't completely lost to him after all.

"Rest, Luke," Obi-wan advised him. "Ratchet was right about one thing – you need your strength to heal. We'll plan where to go from here in the morning… and with any luck, our friends will have planned their next move as well. Perhaps there is hope for both our kinds to find what we are looking for."

* * *

Barricade hit the ground with a dull thud, his jagged armor tearing up clods of sand so hard-packed they were nearly rock. A spray of fluid from the ragged wounds in his face fanned out across the earth. More liquid trickled down his neck as he sat up, clamping one clawed hand to his slashed cheek to stem the flow.

"You let her get away," his attacker snarled, twitching his hand to shake off drops of the other mech's fluids. "You had her within your grasp and you let her get away."

"I am deeply sorry, Lord Starscream," Barricade rumbled, forcing out words that he didn't mean in the slightest.

"I don't want your apologies!" the flier screeched, knocking the speeder-former to the ground again with a brutal backhand. "I want the Allspark! And that fragged femme who thinks she can hide it from us!"

Barricade pushed himself upright and glared at the other Decepticons assembled on the plateau. They formed a loose semi-circle about Starscream and Barricade, and at his gaze they averted their optics and shuffled a few steps away. He curled his lip plates back and hissed at them in disgust. Cowards, the lot of them.

The broad, angular form of the interim Decepticon Commander stood out in stark relief against the lapis of the night sky, a blot of shadow against the glittering stars and the crescents of the planet's triple moons. More stars winked out, only to reappear moments later as the flier paced, muttering to himself, oblivious to his underlings as they stepped out of his path. Even Bonecrusher, usually spoiling for a fight, gave him a wide berth.

Talons grasped Barricade's arms, and he snarled and tried to twist around to strike whoever held him.

"Easy," Skywarp rumbled, hefting Barricade to his feet. "Relax. Can't a mech help a comrade?"

"Frag off," Barricade muttered, wrenching himself free.

"You're welcome." The black flier brushed sand from Barricade's plating. "So what happened out there anyhow? Thought you said you had that purple scraplet down for the count."

"None of your business." Better to rebuff Skywarp than to admit that he had no idea what had happened himself. One moment he had been about to rip out the scout's optics… and the next he had been several kilometers away, with a damaged knee and no idea how he'd gotten the wound or so far from his original quarry. There was a blank spot in his memory banks, a small but galling hole in his databanks that enraged him the more he dwelled on it.

"Whoa, I just asked a question." Skywarp raised his hands and backed up a pace. "Besides, you wouldn't be the first mech on this dirtball to get their aft handed to them by someone weaker. Ask Brawl how he held up against those white-armored squishies."

"Drop dead, 'Warp," Brawl growled. "And was it my fault they were armed with some kinda EMP weapon? I swear, they're huntin' our kind."

"Negative." Soundwave's monotone snarl cut into the conversation. "Hunting smaller mechanisms. Not Cybertronians. Nonetheless, caution advised."

Barricade, Brawl, and Skywarp cast wary gazes at the silver-blue satellite-former. All of them despised the mech – one of Megatron's most notorious bootlickers and eavesdroppers – but at the same time they didn't dare cross him. Mechs who spoke out against Soundwave or tried to inflict injury on him or one of his symbiotes tended to vanish… and it wasn't wise to point out that their stores of spare parts and energon always increased slightly after such a disappearance.

"So while we're hunting the Allspark, we've got organics hunting mechs," Skywarp noted. "As if Autobots on this planet didn't already complicate things."

"The procedures will not change," Starscream declared, finally halting his pacing and turning to face the other Decepticons. "We find Megatron. We find the Allspark. Any lesser creatures, be they organics or Autobots, who interfere will be destroyed. No exceptions."

Thundercracker, who had kept quiet and aloof up until now, narrowed his optic shutters. "The organic creatures are sentient and organized, Starscream. If we kill too many of them, they WILL notice. And they will begin to hunt our kind in earnest."

"You dare question my orders, Thundercracker?" Starscream snarled, swinging around to glower at the blue flier. "And you honestly suggest we spare those worthless flesh creatures? I never took you for a soft-sparked organic lover."

"Merely trying to keep your ego from killing us all," Thundercracker retorted. "And I have no love for the flesh creatures… but recognize them as a potential threat. A team of them got the better of Brawl, and it was only Bonecrusher's intervention that saved him. What if they discover what we're up to and mobilize against us?"

Brawl folded his arms and sulked. Bonecrusher just bore his fangs in a savage grin – evidently he didn't care if the organics attacked, if it meant the prospect of a bloody fight.

"Until such a time as Megatron is found, you would do well to follow my orders without question, Thundercracker," Starscream retorted. "You're forgiven this once, for old times' sake… but speak out of turn again and I'll have Scalpel remove your vocalizer." He turned to address the rest of the gathered mechs. "Shut down and recharge for the night. We resume searching at first light."

One by one the gathered mechs began to fold themselves into their alt modes, settling in to rest. Privately Barricade thought that the hodgepodge collection of landspeeders, skycars, starships, and a grounded satellite was far too conspicuous and they would do better to seek out a cavern to bunker down in for the night… but Starscream did not take kindly to his troops talking back. He'd tasted the Commander's claws once tonight, and he had no desire to add another set of scars.

Thundercracker stared a long moment at Starscream as the mech arranged his new shuttle form to his liking, but Skywarp cuffed the blue flier's shoulder and muttered something Barricade didn't catch, and Thundercracker finally turned away. Those two had been comrades of Starscream's for longer than Barricade could remember, and up until Megatron's disappearance had been the only mechs who could rein in his ego and ambition to some degree. But something had changed in their dynamic the moment Starscream had taken command… and while Starscream liked to pretend that it didn't matter, Barricade knew it rankled deeply with the other two.

That was no problem of his own, he decided, shifting to his speeder form and beginning the process of powering down. Let the fliers work out their own differences. His only ambition at the moment was to find that blasted cube… and the Autobot scout who had refused to divulge its location. She might not be responsible for blanking his memory, but perhaps dismantling her and crushing her spark chamber underfoot would make him feel better about it.

His final processes drifted toward Frenzy as he shut down for the night. How was that little pest getting along on his own mission…


	9. Exposure and Ambush

In one of the Death Star's control rooms, a most unlikely spy was pilfering as much information as he could get his computer-jack on. The Rebel Alliance would have killed to gain this sort of access to the space station's databases – not just the schematics of the superweapon, but personnel files, mission reports, even message logs from Imperial officers too lazy or clueless to clear their history when they were done with a terminal. And while this particular spy was looking for something specific, he couldn't resist downloading some of this information for himself. It was all just too juicy…

Through the hum of data coursing through his CPU he detected a familiar metallic venting, and he unjacked himself from the console and folded himself back into mouse-droid form as the Black One strode into the room. Of course he'd be interrupted yet again in the middle of a search. Oh well… he'd just come back later. It wasn't as if they could stop him.

He didn't bother to duck into hiding but just rolled innocently toward the open door. The mechanism he'd chosen as his alt mode was ubiquitous enough aboard this station that his presence here shouldn't be out of the ordinary. Unlike some Decepticons he could mention, he actually cared about using his alt mode for stealth instead of just whatever carved up organics in the most efficient manner.

 _Fraggin' Laserbeak anyhow,_ he grumbled quietly as he darted past Vader and made for the exit. _Going for the one droid that can't just wander the halls whenever it wants. He probably picked that alt mode just so he'd have an excuse to get out of the hard work-_

His entire chassis jolted unpleasantly as something stopped him in his tracks. Growling in frustration, he pushed on ahead… but he couldn't budge a centimeter. It was as if a large hand had clamped down on him and pinned him in place – yet no one had even touched him.

 _What the frag…_ He lurched forward, gunning his motors as hard as he could. It was like trying to break through solid iron.

Boot-steps clumped closer, and a gloved hand reached down to grab and lift him.

"The Force exists in all things," the Black One's voice rumbled, a hint of something that might have been curiosity buried in its computerized tones. "Yet the _Living_ Force burns within a machine. Strange…"

Frenzy growled and spun his wheels uselessly as Vader carried him off. Suddenly Laserbeak's decision to pick an interrogation droid as his alt mode didn't seem quite so stupid. A mouse droid might make a fantastic disguise, but it lacked any weaponry to defend himself in the event his cover was blown. He'd counted on NOT being discovered, but it looked like this Black One was a lot smarter than the average organic.

Well, so long as his cover was blown, he might as well go all out, right? He pulsed a little power to his transformation cog. Technorganic or not, Darth Vader was about to learn you didn't mess with a Decepticon without getting hurt in the process.

Vader had intended to take the anomalous droid to his quarters for further inspection. A single mouse droid aboard this ship would not be missed by anyone else… and a droid that somehow burned with the living Force was notable enough to draw even his attention. And it awakened an itch he had long thought extinguished entirely – the itch he had possessed from a young age to tinker with machines, to see what made them tick and figure out how to repair and improve them.

 _The Emperor will want to know of this as well… but we shall see if this warrants reporting to him. Perhaps this is the edge I need to overthrow him once and for all…_

The doors to the lift had just shut behind him when the droid in his hand _exploded,_ for lack of a better word. Its thick black shell split apart, revealing bright silver innards that unfolded rapidly into a spindly, spiky creature. Six-limbed and multi-eyed, it snarled and chattered angrily as it swiped at Vader with metallic claws, writhing in his grip.

Another being might have dropped the monstrosity in shock and horror at that moment. Vader kept his grip on the creature, but its sudden transformation stunned him enough that he held it away at arm's length. Its claws ripped into his bodysuit, shredding the synthetic leather and exposing the struts of his cybernetic arm, and its twisted mandibles twitched and spasmed as it continued to gibber and chitter at him.

 _Stars above… what IS this thing?_ This was no ordinary droid – and had it not burned with life, he would have assumed it was some new make of assassin droid, designed to hide in plain sight until it had found and eliminated its target. But its presence within the Living Force made it something else entirely…

 _A living machine. A living, shapeshifting droid._ To a man who had long since given up on his ability to be surprised, this was the shock of a lifetime.

The droid, if that's what it was, sank the digits of all four of its hands into the circuitry of his cybernetic arm and yanked out handfuls of vital wiring. Vader snarled as his fingers went limp, and the creature dropped from his grip and scurried for the lift's control panel.

 _Oh no you don't._ A gesture from his good hand, and the creature screeched as it slammed against the opposite wall, pinned there by an invisible grip. It kicked and flailed, hissing and babbling words that were incomprehensible to Vader but any sentient being would recognize as profane.

"Enough," Vader ordered, glaring at the droid. "This will go much easier for both of us if you stop fighting."

The mechanical creature spat out a few words in Galactic Basic: "Bite me, squishy."

The lift doors opened at that moment, and two stormtroopers and a maintenance worker made to enter. They took one look at Lord Vader, sparking wires jutting from his shredded right arm, and the robotic monstrosity pinned to the wall, and backed away, letting the doors shut on the tableau and leaving Vader alone with his find.

Vader stepped closer, staying out of range of the creature's arms. So this mechanical being had a presence in the Living Force, did it? Perhaps that made it susceptible to other aspects of the Force. There was only one way to find out…

"You will tell me exactly what you are," he ordered, his words accompanied by a none-too-gentle thrust of power.

The creature stopped thrashing, and the fire in its bright blue optics dulled a little. "Autonomous robotic life form from the planet Cybertron. Allegiance: Decepticon. Function: information specialist and spy. Designation: Frenzy." It went quiet, then shook its head and snarled. "The frag did I… ignore all that!"

A few of those words were unfamiliar to Vader, but the first four resonated in his mind – _autonomous robotic life form._ A machine that lived… that thought and reasoned and burned within the framework of the Living Force. And not only that, but they were capable of changing their forms, of hiding in plain sight amid the Empire's war machines.

The implications of this were staggering… and more than a little disturbing. Just how many of Frenzy's ilk had infiltrated the Empire? Was this very space station crawling with robotic life forms, all just waiting for an opportunity to strike? No, Vader was sure he would have sensed them earlier. And so far the only ones he had detected were Frenzy and, quite possibly, another…

"How many of you are aboard this ship?"

Frenzy snarled and writhed, fighting off the probe. Evidently he had some awareness that Vader was forcing him to talk, but his resistance was weaker than even Princess Organa's had been. He pressed harder, cracking open that token shield.

"Two," he spat. "The other's an interrogation droid. Designation: Laserbeak." He clawed at his own face, snarling. "Get out of my head!"

"Your purpose aboard this ship."

Frenzy glowered, dredging up one last burst of strength against Vader's probing. "To frag your creator, squishy."

Vader clenched the fingers of his good arm, and Frenzy hissed and flailed as crushing pressure gripped his torso.

"All right, all right!" he chittered. "Looking for information!"

"What sort of information?"

"Megatron!" he spat. "Looking for data on location of Megatron! Project Frozen Steel!"

Vader's scarred brow furrowed in confusion beneath the black metal that shielded his face. Project Frozen Steel… the name teased the fringes of his memory. He had heard mention of that name before, but had no idea just what it referred to. Then again, the Empire had so many pet projects going at any one time that Project Frozen Steel had probably just been lost in the shuffle as Project Stardust had taken precedence.

"Tried looking on that stupid island planet first," Frenzy continued – Vader was no longer using the Force to prod him into speech, but the little spy must have decided that if the whisperkit was out of the bag he might as well let it all loose. "Almost got into the information vault when you idiot meatbags fried the place. Waste of good data. Lost Rumble 'n' Reedman when the place went up… Laserbeak 'n' I hitched a ride on your floaty sphere-gun. Nice bit of tech, by the way, not bad for squishies…"

Vader gestured again, and Frenzy cut off in mid-sentence. So these creatures had been present at the Battle of Scarif… interesting. And unfortunate that any records on this mysterious Frozen Steel would have been destroyed as a result of said battle. Though why these robotic life forms would think said records would be aboard the Death Star was anyone's guess. Maybe they just assumed all "squishies" were sloppy record-keepers.

The lift opened again, this time on an empty floor. Vader drew on the Force again, pulling Frenzy back into his hand. The creature shrieked and lashed out, raking his claws down his captor's arm.

"You will resume your alternate mode now."

The Force-backed command penetrated Frenzy's haze of fury, and with a growl he compacted back into the form of a mouse droid. Vader nodded in satisfaction and strode out of the lift, past a startled protocol droid and toward his own quarters. Further interrogation of this one was needed… and perhaps it would prove to be more fruitful than his attempts on the Princess.

* * *

Somehow it seemed like forever ago that Luke had visited Mos Eisley with his uncle to purchase a new speeder. Logically he knew only a day or two had passed, but somehow that seemed as if it had happened in another lifetime. So much had happened since then, and he still hadn't managed to process it all. Nor could he quite believe that he was revisiting the spaceport in the company of the rumored "wizard" of the Dune Sea, a protocol droid, an Autobot, and an astromech that was no longer quite an astromech but not quite an Autobot either.

The yellow landspeeder glided easily through the outskirts of the town, veering slightly to the side to avoid a cluster of scurriers. Most of the Autobots had departed for Beggar's Canyon that morning, but the yellow soldier – Bumblebee – had stayed behind, offering to transport their party to Mos Eisley. He would catch up with the others later, he claimed, but Prime wanted his troops to be of some help to their party, even if it was just as a quick ride.

At least, that was Bumblebee's explanation as Threepio had translated it. The yellow droid's voice synthesizer had been destroyed at some point, presumably in a scuffle with the Decepticons, and until it could be fully repaired he spoke in various mechanical languages – including, thankfully, Binary.

"It's a rather obscure dialect, but one I can manage well enough," Threepio explained. "I AM fluent in over six million forms of communication-"

"Something you're not going to let us forget," Luke shot back, though his tone was more teasing than irritated.

"-which includes many languages unique to machines," Threepio went on, oblivious to Luke's remark. "I am impressed that you Autobots have picked up Galactic Basic so quickly, I admit."

A series of beeps and buzzes issued from Bumblebee's console.

"He says his kind have learned several useful languages through the Holonet," Threepio translated. "Or at least the ones most prevalent on this planet. They'll pick up others as needed."

"You say that so casually… uh-oh."

Bumblebee drew to a halt as four white-armored soldiers stepped forward to surround the vehicle. Obi-wan regarded the stormtroopers with a pleasant expression, as if he faced the Empire's faceless troops every day and was on friendly terms with them. Threepio made a sound as if he'd been about to blurt something out but held his vocalizer just in time, while Artoo crooned worriedly.

Luke, for his part, felt the cold fire of anger burn in his gut. Were these the same soldiers who had destroyed the homestead? Who had killed his family and ripped away everything he held dear? He'd kept his grief tightly tamped down until this moment, but now it threatened to burn through his hold and surface as something terrifying…

Beneath him, the landspeeder shifted – slightly, but enough to jolt him back to reality. It was almost as if Bumblebee were tensing to spring into action, like a massif crouching to leap at prey.

"Wait," Obi-wan urged, patting the Autobot's console.

"Who are you talking to?" the closest stormtrooper barked.

"Simply telling my grandson to wait," Obi-wan assured the soldier, giving him an affable smile. "We must teach these young ones to respect authority, no?"

The trooper gave a nod. "Your grandson looks a little worse for wear."

"Just a scuffle with his friends," Obi-wan countered easily. "Boys shall be boys, after all."

Another nod, and Luke felt the fire in his gut dampen slightly. Each answer seemed to relax the Imperial soldiers a little more, assuring them that there was nothing to see here, that they were just family members off on a day trip to the nearest town.

"Where did you get these droids?" another trooper barked, not as easily mollified by Obi-wan's words.

"About three or four seasons," Luke replied, and was sort of impressed at how he'd been able to keep the half-angry, half-terrified tremor out of his voice.

"They're for sale if you want them," Obi-wan added, keeping up the act of two ordinary farmer-folk who saw the Empire's soldiers as just another fact of life… so much so that they weren't above trying to grift some credits out of a few naïve offworlders.

"Sir, these droids match the description we were given," the second trooper informed the first.

The first trooper's gaze moved back to Obi-wan, his easy manner gone and his shoulders tensing with suspicion. "Identification, sir."

The fire in Luke's gut turned to lead, and he desperately wished he had a weapon of some kind. The landspeeder shuddered beneath him, and for a moment he feared that Bumblebee would toss the four of them out of his cockpit and transform, taking on the troopers head-on and never minding about keeping his cover…

Obi-wan just smiled easily, and he fanned his fingers out in a subtle gesture. "You don't need to see our identification."

The trooper's shoulders drooped, and he spoke in a flat voice. "We don't need to see their identification."

Another gesture. "These aren't the droids you're looking for."

"These aren't the droids we're looking for."

Luke turned to stare at Obi-wan. The old man just gave a soft chuckle and waggled his fingers slightly. "We can go about our business."

"You can go about your business."

Obi-wan nodded at Luke. "Move along."

"Move along," the trooper echoed, waving them aside.

Luke didn't need to be told twice – well, a third time. He wrapped his hands around the steering grip, squeezing to signal Bumblebee along. The Autobot obliged, gliding away from the stormtroopers and further into town.

"Whew… I thought we were done for back there," he sighed, the heavy weight draining from his stomach as they put more road between themselves and the checkpoint. "But…"

"But what?" Obi-wan asked innocently.

"How come you never told me you were a Jedi?"

Obi-wan's face remained genial, but his eyes flashed. "That name carries heavy consequences anymore, Luke. Please don't speak it again until we're safely off-planet."

"Oh… right." Schooling in Anchorhead focused primarily on the basics – reading, writing, some math, and plenty of practical knowledge such as machine-work and agriculture – and tended to skimp on galactic history, but even a farm kid like him knew about the Jedi Purge. When the Republic had shifted into an Empire, the government had accused the Jedi Order of treason for attempting to assassinate the Chancellor and ordered them wiped out. The resulting slaughter had destroyed the once-legendary Order… and while rumors circulated of rogue Jedi taking refuge on distant worlds, Luke had never dreamed that one could be lurking on Tatooine of all places.

 _Then again, that means all Owen's remarks about Ben being a "crazy old wizard" aren't too far off the mark. Really, what's the difference between a Jedi and a wizard other than one bases his powers on religion and the other doesn't?_

Bumblebee beeped, and Threepio translated: "He says that he has never seen anything quite that remarkable. There are telepaths among his kind, but none with such powers of mental manipulation."

"The Force can have a strong effect on the weak-minded," Obi-wan replied. "As for your kind, Bumblebee… it's certainly an enigma, even to an old man who has seen a little more of what this galaxy has to offer than most. Even our teachings never spoke of robotic life forms with a connection to the Living Force."

Another series of beeps, helpfully deciphered: "He says that he hopes the Autobots will be able to come out of hiding someday, and perhaps the matter can be studied further."

"Why hide?" Luke asked as Bumblebee pulled up in front of a worn, sand-scoured building surrounded by battered speeders and hoverbikes. "Why all this disguise anyhow? You guys are huge and covered in weapons – why do you need to hide from us? Humans aren't much threat to you."

"Perhaps not one human, or even a handful," Obi-wan replied. "But remember what Optimus said – this war has decimated their numbers. The combined might of the Empire could very well overwhelm them… and I highly doubt the Empire would be content with simply wiping them out. They'd seek to make living weapons of them."

Luke gulped. He hadn't thought of that. But before he could say anything more the old man moved to climb out of the landspeeder.

"Thank you for your help, Bumblebee," Obi-wan told the yellow Autobot. "And good luck to you and your comrades in your own quest. May the Force be with you."

Bumblebee twittered, and as soon as Luke and the droids had disembarked a hologram of a nondescript human man popped up in his pilot's seat. He turned and glided off, stirring up a cloud of dust in his wake. Luke felt a slight pang at seeing him go – as if he'd just had a glimpse into a strange and wondrous new world, only for the door to slam shut on him.

"Luke," Obi-wan urged. "Let's go inside. We should find a pilot here who will take us where we need to go."

"Where DO we need to go?" Luke asked, still watching Bumblebee weave his way through the bustling streets of Mos Eisley. "You haven't explained that part… I mean, Artoo said something about Alderaan, but you said…"

"I doubt it will be possible to return to Alderaan," Obi-wan acknowledged, "but at the moment going there is our best option. Perhaps we'll find clues pointing out where to go next." He gestured toward Threepio and Artoo. "Stay here for now. Establishments like this rarely allow droids inside."

"Of course, sir." Threepio offered a little bow and cuffed Artoo over the dome. "You heard Master Kenobi. Behave yourself, all right? Autobot or not, you should still have SOME loyalty to your human masters."

Artoo grumbled something rude but stayed put.

"Hopefully we won't be long," Luke assured them, and moved to follow Obi-wan into the dim interior of the cantina.

Anchorhead was a primarily human settlement, with the occasional Twi'lek or Nikto, so the profusion of alien beings packing the smoky, ill-lit bar was enough to make any farm boy gawk in wonder. Luke knew from an academic standpoint that there were thousands of species of non-humans in the galaxy, but it was one thing to know that and quite another to see it with your own eyes. Creatures covered in fur, feathers, scales, slick amphibious skin, and armor plates bickered and laughed and slurped their drinks, fangs and beaks and mandibles filling the air with growls and screeches and belches, hands and claws and flippers clutching glasses of a wide variety of intoxicants. Some turned to stare at Luke and Obi-wan, watching with interest or contempt, while others carried on with whatever business had brought them here – mostly the business of getting sloshed enough to survive another day on this overheated rock.

Obi-wan didn't so much as blink at the tableau, but made for a table where a smug-looking man and a towering Wookie seemed engaged in some kind of argument with a blue-skinned woman. Luke realized he was staring and shook himself, hurrying after Obi-wan. Best not to look too much like the naïve farmboy – if he was going to survive whatever adventure he'd just unwittingly embarked on, it wouldn't do good to be torn to shreds before he even got off the planet. He was going to have to grow up and grow wise, and fast.

* * *

"It's here," Arcee announced as the Autobots gathered before the landslide in Beggar's Canyon. "This is where Artoo found the Allspark."

"Are you certain?" Prime asked, gazing at the rubble that sealed the fissure and littered the canyon floor.

"I trust Artoo's word," she replied.

"You trust a human-built machine's word?" demanded Sideswipe, skidding to a halt in front of the jumble of boulders. "Seriously, Arcee? I knew you were a squishy-lover, but not to THIS extent."

"Sideswipe," Prime rumbled, narrowing his optic shutters. "If I hear that slur from you again, there will be consequences."

"Sorry, sir," Sideswipe mumbled, headfins twitching. "But honestly, I trust anything an organic has to say about as far as they could throw one of us."

Arcee sighed. "Artoo Detoo has obviously come in contact with the Allspark. He's alive and sentient like us. I'd say that's proof that he knows where it is."

"Yeah, but he's still one of their droids," Sideswipe retorted. "That means he's still loyal to 'em, right? He could be lying to us, while feeding the REAL location to his masters."

"When'd YOU become a conspiracy theorist, Sides?" Jazz laughed, clapping a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder. "Listen to yourself ramble, ya sound like Red Alert…"

"I'm on the rookie's side," Ironhide grumbled. "For once."

"Aww, knew you liked me, old slagger," Sideswipe grinned.

"Shut up." Ironhide kicked a rock across the canyon. "How're we supposed to trust a machine built by human hands?"

Prime shook his head. "Artoo Detoo may have human origins, and I admit I have no idea how his human programming will affect him as a Cybertronian. But he has no cause to lie to us. He told Arcee that the Allspark would be here, and we will investigate this lead as we would any other."

Ratchet nodded sharply and stepped forward, bending down to heft a large rock. "You all heard the Prime. Start digging."

"And I just got my chrome done," Sideswipe muttered, but he set to digging anyhow. Ironhide and Prime joined in, while Jazz and Arcee stood guard. Just because Barricade had been deterred from this spot once didn't mean he wouldn't return… or that other Decepticons or the locals wouldn't discover them.

"Not bad out there, Arcee," Jazz noted, flashing her a grin as they stood vigil over the dig site. "You coulda just ended th' war for us right here."

"Just because we found the Allspark doesn't mean it's over," she pointed out. "Still… it's a step in the right direction, isn't it?"

"Damn straight." He shifted one hand to its cannon mode and inspected it. "Won't miss this place, t' be honest. Too much sand 'n' dirt. But it's got its charms, don't it?"

Arcee shrugged. Truth be told, she felt a little guilty about leaving Luke and Artoo to fend for himself. The poor human boy had just lost his home and family, and hadn't even had time to grieve properly before being whisked off by that Kenobi fellow. And Artoo was still so fresh and new, unfamiliar with his new body and abilities. Both of them needed help, and she somehow felt she had let both of them down by not being there to help them.

"Arcee?"

"Hmm?" She turned to Jazz. "What?"

"No spacin' out on guard duty, lil' lady," he told her, elbowing her lightly in the side. "Where's your CPU right now? Still thinkin' 'bout the kid?"

She sighed. "Am I that transparent?"

"Just t' me. We've been together too long for ya t' hide much."

"True," she acknowledged – she and Jazz had fought side by side even before being assigned to Optimus Prime's team, and shared a closer bond than most of the other Autobots. "I just feel we could've done more for them. They're fighting a war of their own…"

"An' we've got a war t' fight too," Jazz reminded her. "We can't 'xpect to fix everyone else's problems when we got big ones of our own." He patted her shoulder. "But I gotta feelin' we'll see that Skywalker kid again. An' Artoo. I ain't a clairvoyant or nothin', but I feel it in my spark."

She had to smile at that. "Thank you… I needed to hear that."

"No prob." He shifted his gaze to stare down the length of the canyon. "Man, where's Bee anyhow? Thought he'd be back by now."

"Maybe he's taking a longer route to avoid encountering humans," Arcee suggested. "I'd rather he be cautious at this point…"

The metallic roar of thrusters interrupted her, and a shadow passed over the Autobots. A long-winged shuttle of some kind soared overhead, a blocky inverted Y of the typical ugly human design… but the jagged markings along its wings were anything but human.

"Starscream!" Jazz raised his cannon-arm and fired up at the Decepticon. "We got company! Tin buzzard overhead!"

Prime dropped an armload of rock and drew his gun from subspace. "Ratchet, Sideswipe, keep digging! Ironhide, provide cover!"

Ironhide emerged from the tunnel they'd managed to excavate, arms raised and cannons cocked. "Finally, a decent fight!"

The shuttle transformed, and the squat, broad form of Starscream landed on the edge of the canyon, mandibles split in a savage grin. "How kind of you Autobots to do the heavy lifting for us! We'll take the Allspark off your hands and be on our way."

Arcee raised her crossbow. "Over our offline bodies!"

Starscream chuckled. "If you insist, little femme… Skywarp! Thundercracker! Slaughter them! No prisoners!"

Another scream of thrusters, and two more forms streaked overhead – weird aircraft that Arcee had never seen before, with spherical cockpits flanked by flat octagonal wings. One gleamed a deep blue in the twin suns, while the other shimmered jet-black. Green fire lanced from the fighters, kicking up geysers of dirt and rock and sending the Autobots scattering in all directions.

Arcee fired her crossbow, but Starscream had already leaped back into the air, letting the missile shatter the lip of the canyon. She dove for cover as a retaliating missile struck the earth where she and Jazz had been standing, leaving a molten crater. Dust hazed the air, laser fire and the whine of missiles rang down the canyon, rocks burst into pieces as shots missed their marks. What had once been a simple dig had become utter chaos.

Starscream landed before Optimus Prime, who let a glowing blade slide from his arm and slashed at the Decepticon Commander. Starscream shrieked as the blade bit into his wing, and raked Prime's face and chest with his claws. Prime's mask split open, revealing lip plates twisted in a snarl of fury, but he didn't so much as flinch away from the blow.

Something else thudded to the ground nearby – a dark silver mech with short angular wings jutting from his back. He glanced around, saw that the Autobots were mostly occupied at the moment, and took advantage of the bedlam to duck into the tunnel.

 _Oh no you don't,_ thought Arcee, and she charged into the tunnel after Blackout. Perhaps this was a stupid move… but she had to ensure the Allspark stayed out of Decepticon hands at all costs. Even if said cost was her life.


	10. Unexpected New Ally

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _I have not seen_ Solo: A Star Wars Story, _nor do I plan on watching it anytime soon. My beta-reader has informed me, however, that certain events of this chapter contradict events in that movie, or at least make it difficult to reconcile this fic with that film. So for the purposes of this fic, consider_ Solo _to be non-canon in this universe._

* * *

"Oh dear… I'd forgotten how much I hate space travel," Threepio moaned as the spacecraft Obi-wan had hired – a battered and dingy freighter rather grandiosely named the _Millennium Falcon –_ lurched and shuddered around them.

Artoo, snugged up in a niche in the wall, blatted a retort.

"Well, of COURSE I had to come along, even if no one asked me!" Threepio shot back. "At least one of us has some loyalty to our new master!"

Luke, for his part, just buckled himself into his seat. When he'd pictured himself someday leaving Tatooine for good, he'd imagined it would be aboard a passenger shuttle making a peaceful departure. Not on a smuggler's craft being chased by angry stormtroopers.

"Don't fret, Luke," Obi-wan urged, offering the young man an encouraging smile. "We'll be all right. The Force is with us."

 _Easy for you to say,_ Luke wanted to reply. _You're the Jedi who can see the future._ Yet despite the temptation to snark, he couldn't deny that despite his anxiety there was a sense of rightness about the situation – the feeling that no matter what happened, they'd come through it somehow. He couldn't explain it, but it was a comfort, no matter how small.

The _Falcon_ lurched again, then an invisible hand seemed to push Luke harder into his seat as the ship went airborne. He clenched his jaw, waiting for the sensation to pass, his stomach tightening with every twist and dip the ship took around them.

"All right, we're off!" the ship's captain – a scruffy rogue of a man named Han Solo – called back. "We've just cleared Mos Eisley Spaceport. We're gonna make a pass over the desert to get the engines nice and warmed up before we leave the atmosphere, so hold on tight!"

"Warm up the engines, my foot," Luke muttered. "He's probably just stalling to fix whatever broke or fell off in the takeoff."

"Or perhaps he's putting some distance between Mos Eisley and ourselves before leaving Tatooine," Obi-wan replied. "The Empire could be watching the spaceports for any ships arriving or leaving. If we depart from another location, one not so closely watched, we could evade them."

Luke hadn't thought about that. Then again, this was his first time leaving this overheated hunk of rock, so it wasn't as if he had a lot of experience to draw on.

"Obi-wan… once we get to Alderaan… what do we do?"

Obi-wan's gentle smile faded. "We assess the situation, and plan our next step from there. Don't worry, Luke… the Force will guide us."

Luke frowned. He knew something of the Force – it was some sort of energy field that Jedi and a scattering of other individuals could use to do amazing things – but Obi-wan spoke of it as if it were an old friend, one that he trusted implicitly. He wished he could have that sort of trust in a mystical energy… or anything else, really…

"You, young Luke, must learn the ways of the Force as well if you're to aid me in getting the plans to the Rebel Alliance."

Luke jerked out of his thoughts and stared at Obi-wan. "Wait, what?"

"The Force is strong with you, Luke," Obi-wan went on. "It runs deep in your family. Your father was a powerful Jedi… and you can learn to follow in his footsteps."

Luke shook his head. "No… no, that's wrong. My father was a navigator on freighter-"

"So your uncle would have you believe," Obi-wan replied. "Anakin Skywalker would not have stood for being a simple navigator – he was a great pilot and a cunning warrior." A wistful cast overtook his face. "And a good friend…"

Luke stared down at his hands. Obi-wan knew his father… it was such a small revelation after everything else that had happened in the past two days, but it still shook him deeply. And lit a fire of hope in his gut that he'd long thought extinguished. Here was one last link to his family, to his past… and hopefully his future.

"How did my father die?" he asked. "Uncle Owen said the freighter he was aboard made a bad hyperspace jump and ended up too close to a star."

Obi-wan's eyes darkened, and he seemed to age even further as he stared off at a vague point in the distance. "Anakin Skywalker… met his fate at the hands of Darth Vader."

Luke's gut clenched. Even on such a remote world as Tatooine, Vader was infamous, the horrifying monster used to scare the citizens into behaving like some kind of boogeyman. He'd always considered the Emperor's right-hand man to be nothing more than a distant threat before… but now, the threat seemed to loom even larger.

"Vader was a pupil of mine before he turned to evil," Obi-wan murmured. "He… betrayed… and murdered your father."

His hands clutched the edge of the table, clenching so hard the knuckles turned white. His father hadn't died in some fluke of a freighter accident – he'd been murdered. And in cold blood, from the sound of it. Never mind that Luke had never met Anakin Skywalker – the news ignited a blaze of anger in his heart.

"At ease, Luke," Obi-wan urged, resting a hand on his. "Anger is a natural reaction, yes… but continuing to fuel it will lead to the dark side. Don't succumb to your rage as Vader did."

Luke wanted to retort that it was fine for the old Jedi to say that, it wasn't his father who'd been murdered – but Artoo chose that moment to act up. He squealed and rocked back and forth on his treads, optical sensor blazing like a searchlight as he vied for attention.

"Artoo, for Maker's sake, calm down!" Threepio ordered. "Don't short your matrix out!"

Artoo beeped and twittered frantically.

"I don't see how that's any of OUR business! And didn't they tell us their war wasn't ours? We'll have no part of it."

Luke turned to face the droids, his anger ebbing to give way to worry. "Their war? Threepio, is he meaning the Autobots?"

"Master Luke, those gigantic fellows DID tell us that we weren't to get involved in their-" the protocol droid began.

Artoo, evidently deciding he'd had enough, split apart, parts reconfiguring to assume his humanoid form. Before Luke could do more than blink in shock – he would never get used to seeing an astromech droid change shape before his eyes, he felt – the little mech had leaped up to brace his feet against Threepio's chest and grab his shoulders in his hands, shaking him furiously as he unleashed a stream of angry Binary.

"Ow! Ow! Get down, Artoo! You're even more obnoxious with limbs, you overgrown scrap heap!"

"Threepio," Obi-wan cut in, frowning. "Please translate what he says."

"Oh, for…" Threepio gave a croon that sounded like a long-suffering sigh. "He says that he picked up a distress signal on the Autobots' communication channel. They are under attack and requesting backup from any Autobot troops who may be in the area."

Artoo released the protocol droid and landed smartly on his feet, folding his arms and gazing up at Luke with a smug expression – or as smug as a face consisting of one large red optical sensor, one smaller blue optic, and an immobile round aperture of a "mouth" could manage.

"Oh no… Obi-wan, we've gotta go back and help them!"

"Luke, they did advise us not to get involved-" Obi-wan began.

"But they could be in big trouble!" Luke countered. "The Empire could have found them, or that Megatron they were talking about. They helped us – we should help them back somehow!"

Obi-wan went silent, his eyes taking on that faraway look again. Luke opened his mouth to repeat his plea, but the old man seemed to return from wherever he'd gone mentally and shook his head. He unbuckled his seat belt and made for the cockpit, Luke and Artoo close behind.

"Solo," Obi-wan requested as he took position behind the pilot's chair, "while you're 'warming up the engines,' could you make a pass over a set of coordinates for us? There's something we want to check."

"The _Falcon_ isn't a hover taxi," Han retorted, not looking up from the controls. "I'm gonna have a tough enough time evading the navy fleet in the sector, now you want me to give you the scenic tour?"

Han's copilot, a shaggy Wookie, turned to glower at him and belted out a howl that made Luke's hair stand on end.

"I know they're paying customers, fuzzball!" Han shot back. "And I've half a mind to charge them extra for any detours."

The Wookie roared, making Luke backpedal a step.

"All right, all right." Han rolled his eyes and turned to face his passengers. "What's so important that we've… what the hell is that?!"

Artoo shouldered his way past Luke and Obi-wan and stood before the _Falcon's_ controls, mismatched optics sweeping over an array of screens and buttons and switches that were bewildering to Luke but probably made some sort of sense to its pilots. He nodded and chirped as he found what he was looking for, and a panel opened on his torso to reveal a metallic computer jack, which he plugged into the console.

"That thing better not be uploading a virus," Han told them. "What make of droid is that anyhow? Never seen anything like it."

"Artoo is merely providing coordinates," Obi-wan replied. "As for your question… it's a long story."

"Yeah, well, it isn't storytime right now." Han checked a readout and gave a nod at the coordinates displayed there. "One flyby, and that's it."

Luke kept his gaze on the seemingly endless desert blurring past the viewscreen. Who had sent the distress call, he wondered. Bumblebee? Arcee? Optimus Prime himself? It seemed baffling that someone as big and powerful as Optimus would even need to call for backup, but then, the Autobots WERE fighting foes that were presumably every bit as powerful as they were. Though then the question was whether they could actually do anything about it…

The Wookie – Chewbacca, Luke recalled – bellowed.

"Yeah, I see it." Han grimaced. "Some kinda firefight going on down there. Hope those aren't your buddies, old man."

Luke felt his heart plunge into his stomach. Beggar's Canyon gaped open below them, a ragged wound marring the desert… and dust poured out of it as pitched battle seethed on the canyon floor. Metallic forms clashed and writhed in the dust, sunlight flashing off their armor, and overhead two Imperial fighters swooped back and forth to strafe the battlefield. For a heartstopping moment Luke wondered if the worst had come to pass, and the Decepticons had managed to strike a deal with the Empire…

"Those fighters," Obi-wan murmured, voice grave. "They're alive."

Luke blinked. "You mean…"

Obi-wan nodded. "Those aren't Imperials. They are mechs."

 _Mechs…_ The Decepticons had taken on the forms of Imperial starfighters. As if regular Imperial warships weren't frightening enough – now they were alive and malicious in the bargain.

"Now I know you're crazy," Han muttered. "Alive? Mechs? What are you talking about?"

"Long story, and it's not storytime," Luke replied. "Han, this crate has guns, right? Do you think you can shoot those TIEs down?"

Han raised his hands. "Look, Junior, whatever craziness you two are mixed up in, I want no part of it! You paid for transport to Alderaan, that's what you get – you didn't hire me to be a mercenary for you!"

"But they're in trouble down there!" Luke countered.

"They're droids," Han retorted. "Who's going to care if a couple droids get wrecked?" He squinted through the viewscreen, making out the towering forms of Optimus Prime and Ironhide through the haze of dust. "Though I've never seen droids THIS big before…"

Obi-wan looked as if he dearly wanted to roll his eyes at Han's stubbornness, but he restrained himself. "We have… allies down there. If you aid us in helping them, I'll ensure you're compensated once we reach Alderaan."

Han didn't look convinced, but a growl from Chewie seemed to decide him. He gestured to the Wookie and pushed himself out of the pilot's seat.

"I'm gonna regret this," the Correlian muttered. "I have a feeling the answer's no, kid, but have you ever shot anything from the air before?"

Luke nodded. "I used to bulls-eye womp rats in my T-16 in this canyon."

Han actually smirked at that, as if his opinion of the farmboy had climbed up a notch. "This won't be too different, then. Chewie, take the controls and bring her around for another pass! Let's see if we can't break up this mess, whatever it is."

* * *

Sparks sprayed from Arcee's feet as she skidded to a stop, optics bright with wonder. As she had pursued Blackout through the tunnel her only thought had been stopping him before he could reach the Allspark… but now all thought of the Decepticon fled her CPU. After so many cycles of searching, the artifact loomed before her… and no description or holovid could have done the sight of it justice.

It was enormous, easily as tall as a combiner, and surrounded by an aura of energy that made it seem even more vast and unfathomable. It gleamed metallically in the dim light provided by the lights on her and Blackout's chassis, the color of tarnished iron with the slightest sheen of iridescence. The smooth surface was pitted and gouged in a pattern too precise to be random damages inflicted over time, but if there was meaning to the designs and workings upon its surface, it was a meaning long lost to time.

And as Autobot and Decepticon alike stood and regarded the cube it pulsed and hummed with energy, making their sparks flicker in instinctive response. No matter which leader they served, every Cybertronian knew their creator.

 _It's so big,_ Arcee realized, her CPU finally managing to put together a coherent thought. _How the Pit are we supposed to get it out of here, let alone off this planet?_

Blackout seemed to overcome his awe at that moment, and he lunged toward the cube. Arcee's body reacted before her CPU could process what had happened, and Blackout went down with a heavy thud on the rubble-littered cavern floor. The cycle-former straddled his back and pinned his arms down.

"Oh no you don't," she snarled. "We've fought too hard and lost too much to let your kind take the Allspark!"

"Our _kind?_ " Blackout growled, twisting and writhing in an effort to break free. "Our _kind_ seek the Allspark to restore Cybertron to its former glory! Whereas you Autobots would lock it away and see us go extinct!"

"We'd ensure it was used for its rightful purpose!" she retorted. "To continue our race and maintain peace! Not for conquest and destruction!"

Blackout hissed, mandibles clattering and dripping fluid. "Launching the Allspark into space isn't exactly 'continuing our race,' pathetic femme."

"The Council made a mistake." Arcee wished she could draw a weapon and dispatch him here and now, but it was taking all her strength to keep him pinned. "Prime won't repeat the Council's errors. He'll restore our homeworld!"

Blackout gave a choking laugh… and rolled, crushing Arcee into the stone floor of the cavern. Before she could gather her wits enough to fight back his foot slammed into her abdomen, sending her skidding across the chamber. She hit the wall, pain dazzling her vision.

"You put too much faith in a mech that would destroy us all," Blackout growled. "Some of us elect to follow a saner leader."

"Saner?" Arcee groaned, pushing herself to her feet. "You call Megatron saner?"

"If his goals are any indication, yes." Blackout rested one hand against the Allspark, and a ripple of energy passed through the massive cube at the contact.

"No!" Arcee staggered forward, raising her crossbow, but it was too late.

The cube seemed to shudder, causing pebbles and dust to rain down from the cavern ceiling. Then it split apart into dozens of smaller squares, folding and shifting in elaborate patterns like a child's puzzle. Even as Arcee watched, it collapsed in on itself, until all that remained was a palm-sized cube resting in Blackout's palm.

"Ask your precious Prime just what he intends to do with the Allspark. You'll see who the real hero is." And with that cryptic warning, Blackout bolted for the tunnel.

Arcee fired her bow, but the missile went wide, smashing into the cavern wall. With a cry of frustration she pulled her sidearm and chased him. So close, only for the Decepticons to snatch the Allspark first… it couldn't end like this!

 _Prime!_ she screamed over the Autobot frequency. _Blackout has the Allspark! He's on his way out! Someone needs to stop him!_

 _We are all… slightly… occupied,_ Prime replied, words punctuated by heavy blows as he grappled with some Decepticon or other. _But we… will try…_

Blackout emerged from the tunnel… and went sprawling as a yellow form tackled him. The Allspark shot from the Decepticon's hand and bounced away, looking like nothing more than a glittering bauble dropped carelessly on the battlefield.

"Bumblebee!" How had the scout returned so quickly?

Bumblebee squealed in delighted shock as the shine of the Allspark caught his optic. _You found it!_

"Just hold Blackout down!" Arcee told him. "I'll get the cube!" She surged forward, hands outstretched…

Only for a set of gray talons to scoop the artifact up, and Air Commander Starscream to grin smugly at Arcee.

"Thank you, Autobots, for doing our heavy lifting," he sneered. "Your reward is a quick death-"

Starscream was notorious among both factions of the war for his long-winded blustering and boasting, but a blast of plasma between the shoulder joints cut his current monologue short. He screeched and staggered, dropping the cube, and Arcee took advantage of the distraction to leap forward and grab it.

 _Chaos below…_ It was like grabbing a live energy cable. An unspeakable amount of power seemed to radiate from the cube, making her entire chassis shiver with the force of it. Grinding her dental plates and bracing against the surge of power as best she could, she lifted her gaze skyward to see who had dared to fire on Starscream.

The ship that swooped overhead was of no make she was familiar with – an oblong disc covered in dirt and dents, its forked prow blazing with blaster fire. It bore no sigil, so she could only assume it was of human make and not a fellow Cybertronian. Some humans who had spotted the fighting and assumed the worst, opting to shoot first and ask questions later? Or someone they knew… but no, the boy wouldn't be that foolish…

Even as she watched the ship arced around and fired on the two starfighters circling the canyon like oversized birds of prey. Skywarp vanished with a faint quiver in the air, but Thundercracker's right wing exploded into shrapnel, and he plummeted to the canyon floor with a scream of pain. At least they were proving useful, Arcee thought, though she had to wonder if they'd start firing on the Autobots next…

 _Arcee, are you all right?_

She never thought she'd be so happy to hear Artoo's voice again. _Artoo Detoo! Are you on that ship?_

 _All four of us plus some extras,_ Artoo replied. _Figured you needed a hand. Did you find the Allspark?_

 _We did! Unfortunately, the Decepticons found it too._

 _So we gathered._ A pause as the ship twisted around and opened fire on Soundwave and Bonecrusher, who had ganged up on Ironhide and were doing their level best to rip him apart. _We'll draw their fire and give you time to run-_

 _No time,_ Optimus Prime cut in, delivering a final blow of his armblade to the Decepticon brute that had him backed up against the canyon wall. He yanked the blade free and looked skyward toward the freighter. _We have to get the Allspark off this planet. Artoo, can you and your comrades take it?_

 _What, seriously?_ Artoo's voice was a squeal of surprise. _I thought this thing was super-important to your kind! And you're giving it to a couple of humans who can't even take care of themselves?_

 _Better in their hands than ours at this time,_ Prime replied.

Arcee narrowed her optics. She hadn't wanted to believe Blackout's words, but Prime's orders made her question them anew. What was Prime planning anyhow? Giving away the Allspark as soon as they had it in their hands?

 _I'm opening the bay doors,_ Artoo replied. _We don't dare land, though, so one of ya's gonna have to toss it. Obi-wan says he'll catch it._

 _Good enough._ Prime stepped over the dead chassis at his feet. "Arcee, get ready to throw it."

"But sir-" she protested.

"Arcee, you have to trust me," Prime ordered, his voice firm. "When the ship makes another pass, throw the Allspark to it. That's an order."

She hesitated, doubt gnawing at her fuel tanks. But Starscream was clawing his way to his feet even as she dithered, and she knew she had mere seconds before he attacked her and tried to take the cube by force. Like it or not, she had to get it away from him… and their tiny ally and his friends were their best option.

The freighter swooped past, and the brown-robed figure of Obi-wan appeared in a doorway that gaped open on its underside. The aged human held out his hands, heedless of the wind that ripped at his hair and clothing, as if he caught ancient artifacts from the bay doors of speeding starships on a regular basis. She could only hope he was a half-decent catch.

She raised her arm and threw the cube… just as a heavy chassis smashed into her, tackling her to the canyon floor. Whether Obi-wan made the catch or not she didn't see – she was too occupied with trying to keep a set of wicked claws from tearing her faceplates open.

"I owe you payback, pathetic femme," Barricade snarled, fangs bared in a savage grin.

Arcee roared and kicked at the black-armored Decepticon, her foot slamming into his abdominal plates. He flinched at the blow but didn't back down, and she screamed as his claws raked over her cheek. With a sinister laugh he raised his hand, ready to gouge out her optics…

But an ominous rumble and a pulse of energy made him pause, and both combatants could only watch as the freighter shuddered… then began to change.

* * *

Arcee's throw went wide, jolted off its mark by the sudden tackle, but Obi-wan wasn't overly worried. He shut his eyes, letting the Force take over, trusting it to help him retrieve the object their friends were entrusting to their care. A flex of power, and the cube altered its course mid-trajectory and made for his hands as surely as if he'd just activated a magnet.

The sudden flood of energy coursing through his body nearly made him stagger. He was no stranger to artifacts with a strong connection to the Force, but he'd never encountered one of such _power_ before. The cube thrummed with energy, burning brightly in the framework of the Force as if possessed of a fiery heart of power. It was as if the life force of thousands of Arcee and Bumblebee's kind were packed into a single box, threatening to burst free at any moment. He hadn't doubted Prime when he'd told them this Allspark contained the power to give life, but it was one thing to understand that on an academic level and quite another to feel it for oneself.

 _The Empire will want this,_ he realized. _Once Vader and the Emperor have the barest inkling that it exists, they will pursue it with a hunger unmatched by any desire for power or vengeance they've ever had before. It needs to be safeguarded… but will the Alliance be up to such a task? Or will it only paint a target on their backs?_

Artoo chittered and beeped excitedly, dancing from foot to foot.

"Yes, yes, little one, we've got it," Obi-wan assured him. He stepped back from the bay doors, letting them groan shut. "I do not know why our friends trust us so much with an important artifact, but we'll honor that trust as best we can."

The _Falcon_ twisted to the side at that moment, banking around to fire at the black TIE that had reappeared nearby to harass the freighter. The ship's artificial gravity hadn't been activated yet, seeing as they were still in Tatooine's atmosphere, so the move sent Artoo skidding across the floor with a wild cry and Obi-wan flailing to grab the nearest solid object to regain his balance. The Allspark fell from his arms and struck the floor.

That was all the catalyst the cube needed, apparently. For a shockwave of power flowed out from the artifact, sweeping over the ship and making it shudder all around them. Its engines stuttered, stalled… then roared back to life, almost as if the _Falcon_ was trying to find the strength and means to speak.

Obi-wan gasped as a bright pinprick of the Force blazed to life within the _Falcon's_ engines, a pinprick that became a brilliant star within the framework of the Living Force. He was so stunned by watching a life spring into being in his own presence that he barely registered the ship splitting apart around him.

* * *

Later, Arcee would wonder if Prime had known all along that handing the Allspark over to the humans would result in this. Now, however, she could only gape in wonder as the massive freighter split apart, plating and internal components sliding and locking into a new configuration. Powerful limbs unfolded from beneath the battered armor, and fiery blue optics blazed from within a grizzled-looking faceplate that emerged from within the depths of the freighter's internals.

"By Primus," Prime murmured.

"Holy frag," Jazz gaped.

Barricade pushed himself to his feet, Arcee forgotten entirely. "The Allspark…"

Starscream actually whimpered, stepping back as the titanic new mech landed with a strut-jarring thud on the floor of the canyon. The freighter had been huge, even compared to a Cybertronian, and the resulting life form the Allspark had crafted from it was appropriately sized. They were as tall as Devastator, perhaps taller, and bristled with weaponry on their shoulders and torso. And the look they flashed them was enough to make even the most stalwart mechs tremble where they stood – a look of grim determination.

"It works," Blackout murmured. "I almost didn't believe it would…"

The newcomer raised an arm, and their fingers retracted to form a massive cannon. Arcee's pump nearly stopped, and she stepped back, ready to flee… but the cannon was not aimed at her or any of the other Autobots, but at Starscream and his ilk.

"Hey, not fair!" Brawl growled. "How come all the big ones end up on the 'Bots' side anyhow?"

"Shut up!" Starscream retorted. "Decepticons retreat!"

"But the Allspark!" Barricade protested. "You'll have us abandon our quest-"

"I'll have us live to fight another day, idiot!" Starscream snarled. He whirled to glower at Prime. "This isn't over, Optimus. The Allspark will be ours… and you and yours will suffer for taking what's rightfully ours." And he transformed and tore away, his troops hot on his heels.

Prime didn't dignify Starscream's threat with a retort. He only turned his attention to the newly sparked mech, holding his head high as if the newcomer didn't tower over him. Even now, dwarfed as he was, he carried himself with the regal air of a commander.

"Welcome," he murmured. "These are hardly perfect circumstances to welcome a new mech into existence, but we do so anyhow. I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots… and we are very grateful for your presence."

The newcomer gazed down at Prime with a curious expression. Then they grimaced, and panels on their torso opened to spit out a handful of tiny forms. They cupped the humans and human-made droids in their hands, gazing down at them curiously, then carefully set them down nearby.

" _Easy,"_ they rumbled, their voice deep and powerful… but, to Arcee's surprise, feminine. _"I'm not going to hurt you."_

Threepio was evidently unconvinced of this – he kept right on shrieking, though Arcee couldn't make out the exact words. Luke, Artoo, and a human Arcee didn't recognize just stared up at the newcomer in utter shock, while a furry creature she couldn't identify gave a deep howl in response. Obi-wan, for his part, looked more ecstatic at what had happened than anything else.

" _Sorry,"_ the titanic femme went on, managing to look somehow sheepish. _"I didn't mean to scare you. Least of all you, Han… I don't want YOU of all people scared of me."_

Han opened and shut his mouth a few times before replying. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? What the frag are you?"

"That's your ship," Obi-wan noted, a wry smile on his face. "Though it would seem to have undergone something of an overhaul."

Han glared at the old Jedi. "What did you do to my ship?"

"It was an accident," Arcee insisted, trying to mollify the situation before it got out of hand. "I swear it… we just wanted to keep the Allspark safe, we weren't meaning for THIS to happen…"

"What's an Allspark? What are all these giant droids doing here? What the scrap did you drag me into, old man?"

Prime looked back and forth between the enormous femme and the ranting human, then gusted a massive sigh through his vents. "It seems we have a lot of explaining to do. Not to mention a new plan of action to formulate." He nodded at the newly made femme. "Your name, if you have one?"

The femme's optics shuttered briefly as she considered. _"Millennium Falcon. But for now… Falcon will do."_

"Falcon, then." Prime smiled a little at that. "Sit down, Falcon. Obi-wan, ensure your friends are comfortable. We have a lot of ground to cover."

"Of course," Obi-wan replied. "It would seem our fates are entwined for good now, whether we want them to be or not. It will be interesting to see how they play out from here on out."


	11. Project Frozen Steel

_No results found._

Vader scowled at the screen, then typed again, as if entering the same answer repeatedly would somehow net a different answer. _PROJECT FROZEN STEEL._

 _No results found._

"You might as well give up," the mechanical avian snarled from behind him, its beaked face somehow managing to grin. "Neither of us has found anything, and we've been ransacking your archives for decacycles. What makes you think a fleshbag can do it?"

Vader ignored Laserbeak and tried again, this time altering the phrase. _SHAPE-CHANGING DROID RELATED PROJECT._

 _No results found._

 _MEGATRON._

 _No results found._

 _MEGATRON LOCATION OF._

 _No results found._

Vader brought a fist down on the controls, resulting in a string of gibberish characters being entered into the search field.

 _No results found._

"Gotta give it to him, Beaky, he's tenacious," Frenzy chuckled.

"One can almost admire such a stubborn one," Laserbeak purred.

Vader turned to regard his unlikely guests – or more accurately, his prisoners. The former mouse and interrogation droids glared back at him from within their energy-shielded cages, cube-shaped frameworks of durasteel that bore no bars but walls of plasma a hair's-breadth thick. Said walls were still impenetrable as meter-thick ferrocrete, however… something the spindly silver mech had proven by running into them repeatedly in an effort to break free.

One could only wonder just what the worker who had received the Dark Lord's demand for the cages, normally used to contain vicious animals or smaller sentient prisoners, had thought of the command. Quite possibly his order was now serving as prime gossip among the civilian workers and lower-ranked soldiers of this battle station. Let them talk, Vader decided. Anything they could come up with would still be far less strange than the truth.

"We're only being honest, Black One," Laserbeak sneered, glaring at the Dark Lord without a trace of fear. "You can't fault us for that. What makes you think you'll succeed where we failed?"

Vader clenched his fist. Had one of his underlings mouthed off to him in such a fashion, he would have crushed their throat in a heartbeat. Even now the temptation to reach out with the Force and smash this mechanism's head in burned within him. Only the knowledge that these creatures held valuable information – information that could very well win the war, or even overthrow his master – stayed his hand.

 _Information…_ Just thinking that word cooled his temper slightly. Perhaps he had been going about this all wrong. He had two ready sources of information before him; why not use them? Better to go looking further for Megatron and Project Frozen Steel when he had some idea of just what those things were, after all.

"You." He pointed to Frenzy. "Who or what is Megatron?"

Frenzy glanced up from scrabbling at the steel framework of his cage. "Oh no, you ain't using your telepath tricks on me again! Ask Laser for once!"

"Sure, throw me under the transport," Laserbeak growled. The avian mechanism swiveled his head toward Vader, long neck swaying like a serpent's. "But we aren't telling. Soundwave would kill us for giving information to a squishy."

Vader raised his hand, and Laserbeak shuddered at the pressure against his chassis. "Perhaps Soundwave will kill you if you speak… but I will definitely kill you if you keep silent."

The avian hissed, digging his claws into the floor of his cage. "Megatron is the leader of the Decepticons – our kind."

So these creatures – these Decepticons – were hunting for their missing commander. "How is Megatron connected to Project Frozen Steel?"

Frenzy cackled. "He really is stupid! Doesn't know his own kind's moronic project to keep Megatron chained-"

Vader released Laserbeak and pointed at Frenzy again, and the slender Decepticon shrieked as he was flung against the back wall of his cage, bouncing off in a shower of white-hot sparks. He twitched a moment on the floor of the enclosure, then scrambled to his feet, still smoking at the joints and chittering mutinously in some alien language.

"You will forgive my associate," Laserbeak noted, though his words bore a faint chuckle that Vader took to mean he was glad to see his comrade take the blow and not him. "He never was one to mute his vocalizer when he held a strong opinion."

So he had gathered. "You believe the Empire is holding Megatron prisoner?"

"Believe?" Laserbeak arched his neck and spat a glob of an oily substance that hit the wall of his cage and burst into flames. "We know. The Empire has Megatron… and while that odious Starscream is content to rule in his stead, the TRUE Decepticons hunt for our liege. We were hunting for his location on Scarif when your wasteful attack interrupted us… and we came aboard this ship to continue the search. But you seem intent on delaying us."

Vader mulled over this information. "Impossible," he said at last. "If the Empire were holding a sentient mechanical life form in any facility, I would know."

Frenzy cackled. "So our technorganic friend thinks he's omniscient all of a sudden! What, you in charge of this circus? Or maybe someone lower'n you's keeping secrets." His multiple optics waggled at the end of their stalks in an oddly sardonic expression. "Or someone higher'n you."

Vader didn't reply… but the creature's words both troubled and angered him. The Emperor's right-hand man and apprentice he might be, but he knew his master was not above keeping secrets from him. It would be like him to have captured the leader of these living machines and, for one reason or another, hidden its existence from his student. Had he really expected to have stumbled upon the one thing that could help him overthrow the Emperor without learning that his wily master had learned the secret first?

"He won't be held by your kind for long," Laserbeak hissed. "We will find him… we will set him free… and he will have the price of his humiliation in your kind's blood, stupid flesh creature."

Laserbeak's words were meant to threaten… and yet they sparked a sudden flare of inspiration in Vader's mind. It was a wild idea, one that could backfire badly if anything went wrong – but it would be rich revenge for everything Palpatine had ever done to him, and a way to seize control of the Empire once and for all. What better way to overthrow his master than to hoist him by his own petard – for if Palpatine truly held Megatron captive, surely he would be the focus of the Decepticon commander's vengeance if he ever broke free.

And once Palpatine was out of the way, Vader would be free to take command of the Empire… and free to offer Megatron an offer he couldn't refuse.

He gestured sharply… and the energy fields containing the two Decepticons fizzled out. They froze, staring at Vader as if he had lost his mind.

"You will find him… and I will help you," Vader informed them. "But in return, I seek an alliance with your kind."

Frenzy cackled again. "The boss doesn't truck with squishies!"

Laserbeak, however, cocked his head to one side in consideration. "What do you possibly think you can offer Megatron in an alliance?"

"Troops. Raw materials. Energy. The resources he requires for your people's goals, whatever they may be."

"And you're in a position to promise him such should we find him?" Laserbeak inquired.

Vader didn't hesitate. "I will be."

Laserbeak pondered that, then nodded. "I will relay the request to Soundwave. If he accepts… then the bargain is struck. Help us find Megatron, and the Decepticons and the Empire shall work together."

Frenzy hissed. "Don't be makin' promises we know Starscream won't keep."

"If Megatron is released, Starscream won't be a problem," Laserbeak purred. "Very well, Black One…"

"Darth Vader," Vader corrected. "Though you may properly address me as 'my lord.'"

Laserbeak's hooked mandibles almost seemed to sneer at that, but he nodded. "Very well, _my lord._ Where do we look first?"

"How are your hacking skills?"

Frenzy tittered and waved his claws. "Lookin' at a master here."

"Then we depart for Corusant as soon as possible. There are restricted archives there that should be most informative for all of us."

Frenzy cackled. "I feel good about this partnership."

"I don't," Laserbeak huffed. "But it would seem we haven't much choice." He dipped his head in a bow toward Vader. "What will you have us do in the meantime, _my lord?_ "

Vader ignored the mocking tone in the mech's words. "I will have a transport prepared. In the meantime, we have a… guest… that shall accompany us."

* * *

Leia didn't bother to even get up from the sleeping ledge as her cell door slid open. She had no delusions that this was a rescue – Tarkin wanted her executed, and no doubt would order it carried out immediately once he'd discovered that the Rebel Base on Dantooine was long deserted. This would be her escort to whatever room had been chosen for her termination… or simply her executioner, here to put a plasma bolt through her head and quietly dispose of her body. The second option was less likely – Tarkin would want an audience for her death – but entirely possible.

 _Let it happen,_ she thought with a mixture of defiance and resignation. _Let the location of the Alliance die with me._ It would be her final act to protect the freedom fighters who strove to overthrow the Empire and restore justice to the galaxy – an honorable way to go, in her opinion. And it would enable her to see her father again, and join the people of Alderaan beyond the void…

"Princess?" The voice was rough, guttural, and oddly mechanical. Had they sent a droid to collect her for her execution? "Princess, wake up. We must hurry."

She opened her eyes a crack… and found a curious being staring back at her. A droid, yes, but no make of droid she was familiar with. It had a strange piecemeal look to its armor, with a fair amount of its internal workings exposed, and its shining armor was a shocking metallic pink. Its optics, a vivid scarlet, looked far more intricate than was standard for most droids, and in place of the usual vocalizer slit commonplace in humanoid droids it bore what almost looked like insectoid mandibles. Compared to the elegant look of protocol droids or the hulking lack of personality in enforcer droids, this one was a bizarre anomaly on the station… and the garish color did nothing to help.

"You're not an Imperial droid." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," the droid acknowledged. It hunched in the doorway of her cell, cocking its head like a curious animal. "I was sent by the Rebellion. This is a rescue."

She blinked, wondering if the combined traumas of the past few days were finally making her mind crack. Her brain just couldn't comprehend that the Alliance had sent a bright pink droid to facilitate her escape. True, she'd sent a droid to get the Death Star plans to General Kenobi, but at least that had been a normal droid. Not this thing that looked to have been badly designed as a little girl's playmate.

"We are pressed for time," the droid insisted, and she thought she could detect exasperation in its queer facial construction. "So if you could finish gawking and move your feet, it would be appreciated."

Leia blinked, feeling a spike of anger… and an absurd impulse to burst out laughing. Droids left to their own devices often developed strange personality quirks, and this one's oddities, while abrasive, were a refreshing change from the simpering politeness of many droids she was used to.

"Who sent you?" she asked. She couldn't picture General Dodonna or Senator Mothma sending a single garishly-colored mechanism to rescue her, but then, the Rebellion was in dire straits at the moment, and you couldn't exactly choose your heroes.

The droid paused, cocking its head to the other side. "I am not at liberty to say."

She frowned, troubled. While the appearance of her hot-pink savior had given her a brief flare of hope, suspicion rose just as quickly to snuff it. Without some kind of proof that this droid had been sent by a trusted member of the Alliance, she had no way of knowing that this wasn't just an elaborate trap. It could be a gambit on Tarkin's part to justify shooting her as an escaped prisoner, or an awful scheme on the part of another Imperial to wrest the satisfaction of eliminating an important Rebel agent from the Grand Moff.

"You don't trust me?" the droid asked, looking enormously put out. "I'm here to help you, Princess. Though I suppose I could always just leave you here… you look to be enjoying your solitude. A solitude I doubt you'll be around to enjoy much longer."

Leia hesitated… then made her decision. She had accepted her fate as a martyr for the Alliance, but suddenly that option seemed much less appealing now that a chance at escape had presented itself. She would play along, follow the droid out of the cell, and make a break for it if it appeared to be double-crossing her. If it was truly a Rebellion plan, then well and good. If it was a trap… at least she was forewarned. And the moment it appeared her rescuer was about to double-cross her, she could still run – and hopefully shoot it if she could acquire a weapon along the way.

She just hoped that whoever had sent this droid had ensured it had a proper plan programmed into its CPU, something besides "open the cell, shoot everything that moves, and run." That sort of plan rarely worked out in the end.

"All right," she said at last, pushing herself off the ledge. "Let's go. I'm ready."

"Good." The droid motioned for her to follow it. "There's a shuttle preparing to depart to Coruscant shortly. I'm to smuggle you aboard it."

That sounded incredibly risky – Coruscant was the seat of power for the Empire, and it was difficult for any known Rebel to sneak on or off the planet. Still, despite being the center of the galaxy in more ways than one, it was a planet full of nooks and crannies where any number of resistance cells could hide, and once there she should be able to contact one and find proper refuge. It wouldn't be easy… but she would cross that bridge when they came to it.

The unlikely duo made their way out of the cell and into the control room of the detention block, which was eerily deserted. Lumps of dripping silicon and metal slag marked where someone had fried the cameras, which at least explained how her rescuer had avoided detection. How it had managed to get rid of the guards was less clear, but then, it wouldn't be the first time idiot soldiers had left a station unattended to use the refresher or sneak in some illicit recreation.

"What's your designation?" she asked.

The droid paused, tilting its head again in that curious manner. "BKE-1984, but you may call me Beaky."

"I've never seen a droid like you before."

"Not many have," Beaky noted, going to a set of doors and plugging a jack from within its wrist into the controls. "I'm a new military prototype."

She raised an eyebrow. "Military prototypes are pink now?"

Beaky's optics flashed. "It's a temporary paint job. Shut up."

She snorted lightly but decided not to press it. Perhaps whoever the designers had hired to paint the droid had a bizarre sense of humor and liked the thought of a military droid being a completely unsuitable color. Or just liked pink.

The doors slid open, and Beaky stepped back and gave a wave of its hand. "After you, your Highness."

Well, THAT wasn't suspicious at all. "You first."

Beaky made a sound like a resigned sigh. "Of course, your Excellency. Let me risk my core for you." It stepped through the door. "Follow me, then, your Grace."

Leia nodded and hurried down the corridor. She would have felt much better about this rescue if she'd managed to procure a weapon beforehand, but she didn't have a lot of choice in the matter, it seemed. For now, her life was in Beaky's hands. She would simply have to trust that the odd prototype knew what it was doing.

As the unlikely duo made their way deeper into the station, "Beaky" took a moment to fire off a message to the others.

 _I have her. We're leaving the detention block as we speak._

' _Bout fraggin' time,_ Frenzy snickered. _You stop to defrag along the way?_

 _Shut up. It's not my fault she was obstinate about leaving._

 _Take her to Hangar 12,_ Vader ordered. _Ensure she finds her way aboard my shuttle. Do not fail me, Laserbeak._

The Decepticon snorted to himself as he rounded a corner. He didn't exactly make it a habit of failing his superiors, and he wasn't about to start now.

* * *

When Han had agreed to transport a fresh-faced farm kid, a crazy old man, and two droids to Alderaan, he'd assumed it would be a simple mission with a hefty payout. An easy journey with the promise of being able to pay Jabba the Hutt and get the crime lord off his back had been too good an opportunity to pass up. He should have realized by now that there was no such thing as easy money, and that whenever a job seemed too good to be true, it generally was.

Still, usually when a mission went unmentionable-parts-up, it was generally in the realm of being shot at or having to jettison some illicit cargo. It didn't involve his ship suddenly turning into a sentient being, or being coerced into taking along several extra – and gigantic – passengers.

At the moment he was alone in the cockpit, stewing over everything Obi-wan and Optimus had told him. Once they had entered hyperspace Chewie had gone back into the rec area to engage in a holochess game with the droids, while Luke took lessons in some ancient religious hokum from the old man. The giant droids – no, they weren't called that – the Autobots were in the cargo area with their precious cube, discussing their next plan of action.

Han had protested when Optimus had requested a ride, insisting that the _Falcon_ wasn't big enough to carry them all. In response the _Falcon_ had simply opened her cargo bay doors, revealing an interior much larger than he remembered. Ratchet had given him some explanation about "subspace pockets" that involved way too many big words, but the general gist of it had been that, thanks to Cybertronian technology, the _Falcon_ was now bigger on the inside than she appeared on the outside.

The _Falcon…_ his ship… of all the craziness he'd heard today, that rankled him most deeply. He'd been from one side of the galaxy to the other and seen and heard a lot of weird things, so the knowledge that shape-changing robots that had managed to develop personalities and their own culture wasn't too surprising. Nor was the fact that they were engaged in a war – war seemed to just come part and parcel with being sentient, so why not? The shiny cube was weirder, but he was sure it could be explained by some kind of advanced tech, even if he wasn't sure how it worked yet. Maybe if all this went too far south, he could fetch a nice price for it.

But knowing that his ship had been violated by that thing, altered beyond recognition, was too much. With a snarled expletive he brought his fist down on the console. Why did they have to drag him into this, and ruin the one thing in his life he cared enough to fight for?

A pained yelp filled the cockpit at the blow, and he froze. Wasn't he supposed to be alone here? Then he remembered, and frowned down at the console.

"Don't tell me that hurt," he said without thinking.

" _Not really."_ Falcon's voice was softer when it issued from the ship's computer instead of her titanic robotic body, but it was still deep and resonant. _"Just surprising. I'm used to being shot at, but not hit."_

Han blinked. "Used to? You're saying you remember being shot at?"

" _Mm-hmm. Why does that surprise you? You were there for a lot of those firefights."_

"I just… didn't think you'd remember them. You WERE kind of born this morning."

A low chuckle issued from the computer. _"I may not have been sentient until… whatever-it-was happened, but I still have memories of before. Images and readouts mostly, but they're still part of who I am now."_

Some part of Han burned with curiosity, wanting to know more – how often did one get the chance to talk to a newly-sentient ship, after all – but he stubbornly clamped his jaw shut.

" _Han… have I done something to upset you?"_ Falcon's voice was tinged with worry. _"Is that why you hit me?"_

Han took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "It's not you."

" _Then what? Something bothers you, and it started when I began to be able to think for myself."_

He snorted. "Did the cube make you a psychiatrist as well as an Autobot?"

" _I just want to know."_ Was it his imagination, or did Falcon sound hurt by the jab. _"Han, we've flown and fought and smuggled together for years. You and me and Chewbacca. I may not have been self-aware for all that time, but we were still a team. I… I don't want that to change."_

"Neither do I," he confessed, leaning back in his seat – though technically it was her seat now, he supposed. "I just… you're my ship. I never wanted anything to mess with my ship, whether it was Imperials or Jabba or pirates or some weird artifact being hauled around by sentient droids. And this… this is just…" He couldn't find the words. He wasn't the most sensitive guy in the galaxy, but even he realized that telling someone he preferred things when they weren't alive seemed very cruel to say.

" _I understand,"_ Falcon said quietly. _"Things were easier for you when I wasn't a Cybertronian – when I wasn't alive."_

"I never said that-"

" _You didn't have to."_ She was silent a moment. _"Once we're done taking our passengers to Alderaan, I'll talk with Optimus. Maybe… maybe there's a way to reverse this. To make me just your ship again."_

"No!" Han shot upright at that. "No, we're not doing that!"

" _I don't want to make life difficult for you."_

"You're not," he insisted. "Look… this is all just really sudden, okay? Having my ship come to life on me wasn't exactly in my plans. But now that it's happened… we deal with it. Like we've dealt with everything else so far."

" _It's not going to be easy,"_ she warned him.

Han had to smirk at that. "Nothing ever is. But that's part of the fun, isn't it?"

Falcon chuckled again. _"We're going to make a pretty good team, I think – oh! I think we're there! Alderaan system approaching, returning to sublight speeds."_

Han nodded and reached for the controls… then pulled his hands back. "You got this handled, girl?"

" _Han, I've been doing this for years,"_ she informed him wryly. _"I could do it in my sleep. If our kind sleeps. I'm still hazy on those details."_

Hmm… maybe there were some benefits to having a living ship. One that could perform its own functions, including flying itself, would make certain jobs much easier, and opened up a slew of wild possibilities. Falcon had always been one of the most valuable members of their little team – now she was a member in full, and would prove even more valuable.

"I'll leave you to it," he chuckled. "Let me go tell the others we're almost there."

"No need," Obi-wan replied, stepping into the cockpit at that moment with Luke in tow. "We're there?"

"You've got some sharp ears, old man," Han noted. "Falcon's bringing us out of lightspeed as we speak." He pointed a stern finger at his two passengers. "Be nice to her, all right?"

"Who are you talking about… oh, right." Luke shook his head. "It's hard to believe this ship is alive, isn't it?"

"I'm sure it's something Han has had to come to terms with himself," Obi-wan replied. "But he seems to have adjusted well."

Chewie rumbled and patted the bulkhead before settling into the co-pilot's seat. The Wookie seemed to have accepted Falcon's newfound sentience far more readily than Han. Well, better late than never, Han figured.

" _Coming out of lightspeed now,"_ Falcon announced. _"Planet in view… wait, no, this is wrong… ow! Ow, what the… ow!"_

Han's gut clenched, and he felt a wild urge to hunt down whoever was hurting Falcon and pump them full of laser fire. "Dammit! What's wrong, Falcon?"

" _Something hit me!"_

"Run your scanners and find out who so we can blow them to dust!" Somehow, in the space of a few minutes, he'd gone from hating the fact that his ship had been so radically altered to becoming almost paternally protective of her. He just hoped Chewie didn't choose to rub that in his face later.

" _No, it was solid,"_ she replied. _"Not blaster fire… this can't be right! We're in the middle of an asteroid field! Yet these are the right coordinates…"_

Falcon was perfectly correct – the ship was surrounded by chunks of flying debris, not the jagged shrapnel of a firefight gone bad but the rubble of spacefaring stone. They had arrived at the Alderaan system, all right… but the planet was gone. And the fact that so much rock was littering the system meant only one thing – that some cataclysmic force had destroyed it. The idea that something could have that much power boggled his mind.

"It's gone," he snapped. "The whole planet is gone!"

"How can it be gone?!" Luke demanded. "How do you lose an entire planet?"

"Destroyed," Obi-wan said gravely. "By the Empire."

"That's impossible," Han retorted. "That'd take the entire fleet, with more power than I've ever-"

A sharp cry from Falcon cut him off, and he glanced up to see a small gray moon hanging before them. Strange… last time he'd been to Alderaan, it hadn't had a moon…

" _I thought Alderaan didn't have a moon,"_ Falcon noted, echoing Han's thought.

"That's no moon," Obi-wan replied. "That's a space station."

"It's too big to be a space station!" Han insisted. Yet the closer they got to the gray orb, the less sure he was of his own statement. The single crater marring its surface was too perfectly round, the dark band around its center too straight and too perfectly centered around its equator, the canyons and mountains far too regular…

 _Screw this,_ he decided. _We're getting out of here. No reward is worth this._ Besides, it was kind of hard to drop his passengers off on Alderaan when there wasn't an Alderaan to drop them off on.

"Falcon, get us out of here."

" _Yes, Han."_ She seemed all too happy to comply… but she shuddered from side to side, engines whining with strain.

"C'mon, baby, don't fail me now," Han urged, hands on the console. "Get us back to lightspeed!"

" _I can't!"_

"Why are we still moving toward it?!" Luke shrieked.

"Stop yelling at my ship!" Han retorted.

"I'm not yelling at your ship!"

"Well then, stop yelling at the captain!"

" _Will ALL of you please stop yelling?"_ Falcon urged. _"I'm doing the best I can!"_

"Don't strain yourself, Falcon," Obi-wan told her. "This isn't your fault. This can only mean one thing – that space station has us caught in a tractor beam."

" _A what?"_ Falcon's deep, powerful voice somehow became almost adorable when she was confused. _"I don't think we've ever faced a tractor beam before, Han."_

"No… we haven't. But they're not good news. It means we're being pulled into that station and there's nothing we can do about it."

Four pairs of eyes and Falcon's sensors remained on the massive superweapon as it loomed ever closer, like the baleful eye of a predator. Slowly, inexorably, Falcon and her passengers were drawn into the jaws of doom by invisible claws.


	12. Hiding In Plain Sight

"So that's the Allspark," Ratchet murmured, gazing in wonder at the artifact resting on a stack of crates in Falcon's cargo hold. "The creator of our race. I never thought I'd live to see it again."

"I thought it'd be shinier," Sideswipe noted.

"'Course that's all you care about," Ironhide growled, not looking up from cleaning his arm cannons. "There's more important things than bein' shiny, scraplet."

"Hey, some of us care about looking good," Sideswipe retorted. "Not like certain greasers I could mention…"

"Enough, you two," Ratchet ordered. "We finally have the Allspark and all you two can do is bicker like sparklings. At least take a moment to appreciate how important this is for our kind, will you?"

Sideswipe and Ironhide glared at one another, but said nothing further. Arcee, for her part, just smiled a little to herself. Sideswipe was a good friend, if not as close to her as Jazz, and Ironhide had been a gruff but well-meaning mentor for years. And she knew for a fact that though they might argue and insult one another, either of them would happily lay down their spark for the other if necessary. The Autobots were nothing if not loyal to one another.

For her part, she could still hardly believe that after so many years of searching, they finally had the Allspark in their grasp. They had searched so many worlds, scanning and hunting until it felt as if they had let every grain of dirt on those worlds pour through their fingers, and all they had managed to find were scraps of legends or the occasional deactivated chassis. Part of her had believed they would spend the rest of their days chasing the cube, until the last of their sparks fizzled out and left only ghosts of their once-great race in their wake.

But it was in Autobot hands now, and that meant they had the power to restore their homeworld and save their people. Cybertron and its kind were saved.

 _Or so you hope,_ she thought. For as much as she wanted to deny it, Starscream's words still haunted her.

Her gaze moved to Optimus Prime, who sat with his back to Falcon's wall and kept a careful optic on the cube. She had always highly respected their leader, trusting him and following in his footsteps. He had been one of the few Primes in recent times worthy of the title, the one mech many had hoped would restore the legacy of the Dynasty of Primes. And even when all had seemed hopeless, he had persisted, resolute in his mission even when it seemed a lost cause.

Yet there seemed to be a shadow resting upon their leader, she realized… a darkness in his optics. Had it always been there, she wondered, or had it fallen upon him recently? Or had it slipped over him gradually as their desperate search had ground down upon him? It was hard to know… and she wondered if that darkness hadn't somehow tarnished the Prime she had respected for so long.

 _The Council believed that a lost Allspark was preferable to one in the hands of Megatron, that it was better for our race to die out than to live enslaved under the Decepticons. But Prime never believed that. He was confident that we could bring it back and use it to bring unity and hope to Cybertron. Did he change his mind somewhere along the way? Starscream seems to think so… but he's a Decepticon. They're untrustworthy by nature… right?_

She didn't want to believe that Prime was capable of dooming their kind to extinction. But now that the Decepticons' commander had planted the thought in her CPU, it was growing increasingly difficult to shake it.

She turned to Jazz, hoping for a sympathetic audial to vent her worries to… and let out a vented sigh. Jazz sat smack in the middle of the cargo hold, folded up into his skyhopper mode and his vocalizer rasping with a staticky snore. He'd be no help right now.

 _Maybe I can talk to Artoo,_ she thought. _Or the boy, Luke… they'd listen. But no, they have their own problems to deal with. Their own race is at war, and Luke has just lost his entire family. It wouldn't be fair to burden him with my problems too…_

"Arcee."

She glanced up to find Prime's gaze had shifted to her. She started to climb to her feet, the urge to stand at attention overcoming everything else, but he shook his head.

"At ease," he told her. "You should know by now I don't require formality."

"Sorry, sir," she replied, settling back down. "Just… just a little on edge, I suppose. Hoping the Decepticons don't follow us."

"It's far more likely that they are than not," he acknowledged. "But we will deal with that when the time comes. By the time they catch up, I hope to have the Allspark somewhere safe, where the Decepticons cannot make use of it to further their violent ends."

Dread stirred in her spark at those words. "But Optimus… isn't it more important that we put the Allspark to good use? It's the one thing that can save our kind. We can't just hide it away – we have to take it to Cybertron and restore the planet."

Prime gazed at her, and she was struck by how weary he looked. "The power of the Allspark could very well bring Cybertron back to life… but I have seen what it can do in the wrong hands. It can raise armies, even terrible living weapons, and bring more worlds to ruin. Megatron is hardly the only mechanism who wants to abuse its powers – should Starscream take the cube, or Shockwave, the consequences for the entire galaxy could be devastating."

"And so we'll just lock it up and pretend it doesn't exist?" Arcee demanded, unable to keep the sharpness out of her words. "Our kind is dying out! The cube is the one thing that can save us! Surely that's worth some risk!"

"But is it worth unleashing death and destruction upon the rest of the galaxy?" Prime countered.

"Is what worth it?" Sideswipe asked, optics flashing as he turned toward Arcee and Prime. "What are we talking about?"

"Dunno, man, I just woke up," Jazz muttered, unfolding from his skyhopper form and rubbing his helm. "What's happenin'?"

Prime glanced about the hold, realizing that their conversation had attracted the attention of the others. Then he sighed and pressed on. "Our kind has already ravaged our homeworld in this terrible war – the Allspark would only perpetuate that war until countless other worlds have been consumed by death. Do you think Starscream and his soldiers will stop the bloodshed simply because organics are being caught in the crossfire? No… so long as the Allspark exists, they will slaughter all in their path until they have it, and then continue the destruction until all worlds are subject to their rule."

"Not if we crush 'em first," Ironhide pointed out. "The 'Cons can't misuse the cube if they're dead."

Prime shook his head. "Where there is great power, there will always be those who wish to misuse it. For the safety of all life, the Allspark must be concealed… or destroyed."

Bumblebee let out a flurry of beeps. _You can't be serious, Prime!_

"I am a Prime," he replied, his voice weary but determined. "As such I am charged with safeguarding all life, not simply Cybertronian-kind. And if protecting life means the extinction of our race… then so be it."

Ratchet thumped a fist into the floor and pushed himself to his feet, optics flashing with fury. "Don't we get a say in this, Optimus? This IS our kind you're condemning to extinction! Don't you think we should get a voice in deciding whether or not to sacrifice ourselves for the supposed good of the galaxy?"

"Our kind is scattered throughout the cosmos," Prime countered. "Any hope for us restoring our world to its former glory vanished a long time ago. Our age is past… we can only do our best to ensure the current age isn't tarnished by our crimes."

Jazz shook his head. "This is crazy, Optimus! There's gotta be another way! You can't just-"

Falcon rocked around them before he could complete his sentence. Arcee scrambled to her feet, drawing her crossbow. Had the Decepticons caught up with them, and were trying to board the ship at that moment? Or had the humans' dreaded Empire cornered them?

"Falcon, report," Optimus ordered, rising to his feet and the resigned weariness leaving his voice, replacing it with determined steel. "What's going on out there?"

It was a long moment before the new Autobot replied… and her voice shook with fear. _"We've reached the Alderaan system… but the entire planet has been destroyed."_

Ironhide swore and kicked a crate across the hold, sending it smashing against a wall and scattering its contents. "'Cons! Fraggin' punks had to raze the place while searchin'…"

" _Not just razed,"_ Falcon corrected. _"Obliterated. The entire planet is rubble now."_

Arcee's spark lurched in its chamber. "It can't be Decepticons," she murmured. "They have powerful weapons, but nothing of that magnitude…"

" _It gets worse,"_ Falcon went on. _"There's some kind of a space station here, and it has us in a tractor beam. We've been captured!"_

She lowered her crossbow, still trying to take in what had happened. Decepticons she was prepared for… but she had yet to face the Empire. And unlike other worlds they had explored and searched, whose natives were far more primitive than Cybertronian civilization, the Galactic Empire had technology only a few steps behind their own, and what their firepower lacked in technological aptitude they made up for in quantity. They had done their best to avoid Imperial encounters up until now… but their luck had evidently run out.

"What are our allies doing in response to this?" Prime asked, his voice calm but his optics flashing.

" _Hiding. I had… this ship had… the ship I was before had smuggling compartments built into its floors. It won't hide them from a full-ship scan, but it'll buy them some time."_

Prime nodded. "Hold your alt mode until there's no possible recourse. Nothing good can come from them learning that you're Cybertronian."

" _Yes, sir. Obi-Wan wants to know what the Autobots intend to do."_

"Do whatever it takes to keep the Allspark out of the Empire's hands," Prime replied. "That, above all else, is paramount."

Arcee didn't stop to think – she stepped forward and picked up the cube, cupping a hand over it like a newly emerged hatchling. "I'll carry it."

"Arcee." Ratchet frowned. "It's going to take more than just holding it to hide it. Give it to one of us that actually has space to carry it."

"When they come into this hold, they're going to assume we're just vehicles being smuggled to who-knows-where," Arcee countered. "But you know the first thing they'll do is search us for contraband. They'll go for you first… but they won't think to search a hoverbike."

"It's too risky," Ratchet warned her. "And just where are you going to hide it anyhow?"

"Do you have any better ideas?" she retorted.

Falcon interrupted before the medic could reply: _"Hurry! They're boarding!"_

"This isn't a good idea," Prime noted, "but we have no time for anything else. Everyone, transform and hold as still as possible. Arcee, conceal the Allspark as best you can… but if it's discovered, get it to me as quickly as you can."

She nodded, though privately she decided that she was going to do everything in her power to keep the cube OUT of his hands. Now that his intentions regarding the Allspark were perfectly clear, she didn't dare leave the future of their kind in his hands. He would destroy it, finishing what the Autobot Council had started, and annihilate everything they had worked so hard to achieve.

As the others shifted to their vehicle modes, she opened her crossbow and dumped the missile out of its clip. Then she worked the Allspark in as best she could. The clip wouldn't close all the way, but with any luck the humans wouldn't notice. That done, she folded herself into her hoverbike mode, the crossbow settling in place as the handlebars of her bike form.

And not a moment too soon, as the door to the hold burst open to admit a cluster of small white-armored forms that began to sweep through the room, guns out as if expecting an attacker to launch itself out of hiding at any moment. If the soldiers found the ship's unlikely "cargo" of a motley collection of landspeeders, a skyhopper, and a hoverbike odd, none of them said a word. Instead they fanned out, spreading through the hold, masked faces betraying no emotion as they looked behind and under each vehicle.

"Open the cargo trailer on that one," one she assumed was the squad leader ordered, gesturing toward Prime. "Make sure no one's hiding in there. Same with the medevac speeder. Check the seats on the speeders and the skyhopper too."

Arcee felt the iron grip on her spark relax slightly as the soldiers walked right past her, not sparing the jarred-open compartment on her console a glance. They weren't even looking for the cube – they were focused on finding stowaways, and weren't interested in a vehicle that couldn't hide anything human-sized. Perhaps they would get out of this unscathed after all… she just hoped their human allies had a plan of escape as well.

 _Trust them,_ she told herself. _They're a lot smarter than we give them credit for. If we can make it out of this okay, so can they…_

"Nothing, sir," one of the soldiers reported, climbing out of Sideswipe's interior. The sleek silver skycar gave a nearly-imperceptible shiver of its door panels, and Arcee hoped desperately that he had the willpower to hold still and not blow their cover. He was insanely ticklish, and having a smallish organic body sliding around in his cockpit couldn't be helping matters.

"It's a ghost ship," the commander muttered, mostly to himself. "The crew must have evacuated soon after this ship left Tatooine. Any sign of droids?"

"Negative." Another soldier slammed the doors to Ratchet's interior shut. "If there were any, they were jettisoned too."

"Lord Vader's not going to be happy to hear this," another noted.

"If I were him, I'd just be happy this was a false alarm," still another spoke up, tracing his fingers over Prime's hood. "But there's no pleasing him, is there…" His voice trailed off. "Sir, come look at this."

Arcee flinched as the commander strode past her to investigate. They couldn't have found something, could they? Sloppy transformation had given away more than one young Cybertronian in the past, but Prime was hardly young and inexperienced…

"This symbol," the soldier explained, tapping the Autobot insignia emblazoned on Prime's hood – small, only the size of the man's palm, but still noticeable. "Do you recognize it?"

"Not any crest or coat-of-arms I recognize," the commander replied. "Still… pirates, maybe? Or some new resistance faction?"

"Unknown, sir."

"At any rate, this bears investigating." He tapped the symbol again. "This ship could have been transporting vehicles to the Rebellion as well as the Death Star plans. Or this could be a faction entirely unrelated to the Rebels, but still dangerous. We'll report it to Lord Vader and disassemble these vehicles to ensure there aren't any weapons or explosives hidden inside…"

Ironhide's plating ruffled at that, and Arcee silently cursed the weapons tech even as she, too, prepared to transform. The big clunker was going to blow their cover!

"Hey! You in there! Can you give us a hand with this?"

Ironhide froze, and Arcee forced herself to hold still. That was the newest human to join their group – Han Solo, she thought his name was. But just what was he up to?

* * *

 _What a piece of junk,_ Leia thought as she and Beaky peered into the hangar. The Corellian freighter was an eyesore among the clean-lined, angular Imperial shuttles that lined the hangar, like a bantha tethered alongside a team of regal guarlaras. What it was doing here she had no idea, though she could hazard a few guesses. Perhaps a smuggler had strayed too close and been captured by the overzealous Imperials, or perhaps it was a Rebel craft that had boldly thought to take on the Death Star and paid the price.

Part of Leia wanted to investigate more closely – if these were fellow Rebels, there had to be something she could do to help them. But Beaky insisted that the shuttle to Coruscant would be leaving any moment. If she had any hope of escaping Vader and Tarkin's clutches alive, this could be her only chance.

Beaky's mandibles twisted in distaste. "That smell. I smell… frag. What are THEY doing here?"

"What is it?"

"Nothing," the droid said quickly. "The humans are distracted by this… thing. We can slip aboard while they're occupied."

Her rescuer was hiding something… somehow, it knew what this ship was. But the droid was right – they had a window of opportunity, however small. They couldn't waste it.

Beaky hunched low and scurried into the hangar, ducking behind a hoversled loaded with supplies. Leia dashed after the droid, wishing she was wearing something more practical than a snow-white dress. If she survived to run another mission for the Alliance, she was opting for a jumpsuit or trousers.

They had barely concealed themselves behind the hoversled when a familiar form stalked into the hangar – Lord Vader, cloak billowing to either side like half-furled wings, an aura of sheer malevolence clinging to him. Grand Moff Tarkin strode alongside him, smaller but by no means frailer or less sinister. The sheer presence of both men was almost enough to draw all attention away from the mouse droid that scooted along at their heels – Leia would have missed it entirely had Beaky's gaze not darted toward it, as if finding it more of a threat than the two Imperial officers.

"…timing of this could not be worse," Tarkin was saying, voice clipped with frustration. "Not with us so close to finding and destroying the Rebel base."

 _So they still believe it's on Dantooine,_ Leia thought with a surge of relief. Obviously the scout party Tarkin had sent had yet to report back. That at least bought the Alliance some time.

"This mission is just as vital to the fate of the Empire as the destruction of the Rebellion," Vader replied, not even bothering to turn and look at the Grand Moff. "I am fully confident that you are capable of managing without me."

"Yes," Tarkin replied, giving a reptilian smile. "You always were fond of the hands-on approach. This battle station isn't your style – it keeps one's hands too clean."

Leia clenched her fists in hatred. Tarkin's hands would never be clean.

"You will update me on the mission, successful or not," Vader informed him, sweeping past Leia's hiding place without so much as slowing down. She had braced herself to bolt, but allowed herself to relax just a fraction…

Then tensed with sudden dread as Vader approached the very shuttle Beaky had pointed out as their escape route. Of course it could never be simple, could it?

"Problem, Princess?" the droid murmured, cocking his head toward her. "You're shivering."

She stared down at her hands and forced them to stop shaking. "You never mentioned we'd have to take HIS shuttle."

"Would you rather stay and try your luck with him?" Beaky asked, nodding at Tarkin. "Don't fret so. I've chosen a secure place on the shuttle. You won't be found."

 _You don't know Vader,_ she thought darkly. There were those among the Rebellion who considered the stories of the Dark Lord's abilities pure hearsay, but she knew better. She knew the stories of the Jedi of old… and how their near-miraculous powers could be twisted to great evil by the Sith and other dark minds. She had watched Vader strangle an officer without laying a hand on him, and had experienced his telepathic attacks firsthand. It wasn't much of a stretch to think that he could detect her presence on his own ship.

But as Beaky had said, they hadn't much choice. This was her only chance, however small. And if Vader caught her… perhaps Beaky could do what needed to be done. Better for her to perish than to betray the Alliance, however unwillingly.

"What is this?" Vader had halted in his tracks, and now his gaze remained fixed on the ship.

"A Corellian freighter we captured entering the Alderaan system," an officer reported, standing at stiff attention. "Its markings match one that blasted its way out of Mos Eisley Spaceport on Tatooine. We believed it might have been trying to deliver the Death Star plans to Rebel contacts on Alderaan, though we've found no trace of the plans nor any crew or passengers aboard."

"Conduct a thorough scan," Vader ordered. "I want every part of this ship checked."

"Yes sir." He saluted and strode away.

Vader's gaze rested a long moment on the freighter, and when he spoke next his voice had an odd, distant quality to it, as if lost in his own thoughts.

"I sense something… a presence I haven't felt since…" His fist tightened, then relaxed. "And something else…"

Beaky wriggled in place. "Autobots…"

"Auto-what?" Leia demanded.

The droid shook its head. "Useless data, your Highness. Not useful in our situation." It grabbed her hand and tugged. "Quickly. He won't be distracted long."

She nodded and let the droid pull her toward the shuttle. Whatever that freighter was doing here, she hoped that its occupants had managed some kind of escape. No one, Rebel or smuggler or pirate, deserved the treatment she had undergone at Vader's hands. And she doubted they would be spared even if they had no Rebel connections.

* * *

"This is crazy," Han grumbled, snapping the last piece of armor into place. "And considering I've been sucked into a plot involving a crazy old Jedi, giant sentient droids, and my ship suddenly developing a mind of her own, that's saying something."

"I didn't hear you offer any better ideas," Luke retorted, looking up from dragging the last of the unconscious troopers into the smuggling compartments they had only recently vacated.

"This had better work, is all I'm saying," Han replied. "You know, when I took the job from you guys I was sure it was just gonna be easy credits. I didn't expect to be dressing like a stormtrooper and sneaking my way aboard the biggest blasted space station ever built to sabotage its tractor beam. The fact that that's not the most lunatic part of this whole adventure just makes it worse."

A soft chuckle rumbled around them. _"You have to admit, Han, we haven't had this much of an adventure in a long time."_

"Yeah, well, adventures have a way of getting people killed, and I'd like to live to spend our payment," Han retorted.

"Rest assured, you'll get your payment," Obi-Wan assured him as he ducked out of the cargo hold. "You simply have to be patient a little longer."

" _That's not one of his strong points, sir,"_ Falcon chimed in.

"You can it," Han snapped.

Falcon just giggled in response.

"What are the Autobots going to do while we're in there?" asked Luke.

"They plan to hold the fort, so it were," Obi-Wan replied. "They believe – and I agree with them – that it would be foolish to reveal their existence to the Empire, so they'll remain aboard Falcon unless circumstances force them to defend themselves."

"I just hope it doesn't come to that," Luke noted. "We'd better hurry, then. The longer we sit here, the longer the Empire has to figure out what they are."

"And the more our necks are on the line," Han pointed out. "Let's find this tractor beam so we can get the stang out of here."

"Sir, what should Artoo and I do in the meantime?" asked Threepio.

"Artoo's coming with us to help us find the tractor beam terminal," Luke replied. "You… uh… lock the door behind us? And hope anyone trying to board doesn't have blasters."

"That isn't terribly reassuring," Threepio fretted.

It was an odd assortment of beings that headed for Falcon's doors – two stormtroopers, an old man in weathered robes, a Wookie, and an astromech droid. Luke just hoped that this plan he and Obi-Wan had cooked up would work. Two missions rode on its success, and he didn't want to think about what might happen to the Rebellion or the Autobots if they failed.


	13. Best Laid Plans

_Autobots._

Frenzy had little in the way of self-control, and following Vader into the hangar to find what he would have tactfully called a "fraggin' huge 'Bot" just sitting there like a stupid lump threatened to break that control to pieces. Every instinct he had screamed to leap at his hated foe and rip out the vital wires and anything else vulnerable he could find. The fact that this Autobot was Guardian-sized didn't dampen those instincts any – he wouldn't have lasted very long in this war if he hadn't found means to take down mechs much bigger than him.

The panels on his alt mode's sides shivered, ready to flare out in the transformation sequence. If he could just veer close enough… cutting something important would only take a second…

 _Don't you dare, Frenzy._

Frenzy growled under the hum of his wheels. _Aw, come on, Laserbeak! Only good Autobot's a dead Autobot! Just lemmie get close enough to hurt it!_

 _What are you going to do, tickle it? Let it go. There's no way the two of us can take something THAT huge down. Get aboard the shuttle so we can get to Coruscant and resume our search._

Frenzy grumbled and stilled his transformation cog, though it was a struggle. Logically he knew that finding Megatron took precedence over inflicting pain on an Autobot – and that once their leader had returned, there would be nothing to stop them from hunting all those traitors down and wrecking them good and proper. That didn't make it any less frustrating to just let one pass by without attacking it, though.

And who was to say that following this Vader creature would get them any closer to Megatron anyhow? For all they knew, this could be yet another dead end. They could spend the rest of their existences hunting rumors and skulking about as pathetic human-built droids while their commander rusted in whatever prison these squishies had locked him in.

Still… if the Empire really had Megatron in their clutches, and this Vader occupied a high spot in the Empire's ranks, then perhaps this lead was stronger than he'd first assumed. And the technorganic seemed ridiculously eager to cut a deal with the Decepticon commander – something Megatron would most likely agree to, as he had a knack for ensuring any alliance he made with a lesser species worked out in the Decepticons' favor. It was most likely going to get Vader killed in the process, but that wasn't Frenzy's problem.

 _You get away this time,_ Frenzy thought as he regarded the battered freighter one last time. _But Megatron's coming, Autobot. And he's gonna make you wish you'd never been sparked…_

 _What's taking so long out there?_ Laserbeak demanded, interrupting his thoughts. _The princess is getting restless. Why Vader insists on dragging her along is beyond me._

 _He's interested in the Autobot,_ Frenzy explained. _Seems he can tell our kind from regular vehicles._ Big whoop in his CPU – any mech with working scanners could do the same – but he supposed it was unusual for an organic to have that ability.

 _What is it with his obsession with us anyhow?_ Laserbeak mused. _No matter. See if you can't prod him into getting aboard this shuttle before the princess decides to make a break for it._

 _Oh sure, I'll just grab his hand and drag him aboard with all my incredible strength,_ Frenzy snapped. _You think I can tell this guy what to do? He'll just throw me into the wall again-_

His retort sputtered to a halt as a cluster of figures made their way down the freighter's gangplank. Four of them were organic, and after a cursory glance he dismissed them as unimportant – though the big hairy one was certainly a novelty. But it was the droid that caught his attention and held it. An unassuming astromech, one similar to many he'd seen aboard this big floating gun of a space station… but one that had his sensors screaming.

 _Spark signature – Cybertronian makeup – AUTOBOT!_

This time there was no holding back. The presence of the gigantic Autobot had already pushed his self-restraint to its limits, and the sight of this one snapped it entirely. It was small, he could take it on…

 _No you fool, don't-_ began Laserbeak, but Frenzy had already lunged.

* * *

Luke had expected their odd party to at least make it past the hangar doors and into the base proper before everything went south. Of course, he had expected them to be able to bluff their way past whatever low-level officers they were sure to encounter. With both himself and Han concealed in the white armor of the Empire's soldiers, and Chewbacca and Obi-Wan posing as their prisoners, it should have been easy enough to make their way inside.

He hadn't counted on coming face to face with Darth Vader himself the moment they stepped off Falcon's ramp. Or on encountering a much less friendly Cybertronian at the same time.

Vader had been striding intently toward the freighter, but upon spotting the odd mix of troopers, Wookie, droid, and Jedi he drew to a halt, cloak billowing briefly about him before going still. His gaze locked on the five of them, and despite the all-encompassing mask and helmet he seemed surprised at what he saw. That, Luke would think later, was probably the only thing that had saved them from being cut down on the spot.

 _Oh stars…_ It was all Luke could do not to turn around and bolt right back into the ship. Even on Tatooine he had heard stories about the Emperor's infamous right-hand – his eerie and frightening abilities with the Force, his bloodthirsty reputation, his absolute devotion to the Galactic Empire and its leader. He was a specter out of one's worst nightmares, a sinister reminder of what awaited anyone who dared step out of line.

And Obi-Wan's words just made this figure all the more horrifying – and hateful – in Luke's mind. The revelation that this man was responsible for the death of his father…

The gut-wrenching silence couldn't have lasted more than a moment, but to Luke it seemed to drag on for hours. It was finally broken by a wild mechanical shriek as the mouse droid that had been tailing the Dark Lord shot forward, gibbering electronically.

"What the-" began Han.

Artoo let out a shriek of his own and shot forward with far more speed than any astromech had a right to possess. He swerved to put himself between the humans and the droid, a panel opening in his front to reveal a shock probe.

The mouse droid didn't even slow down – it sprang into the air, unfolding into a spindly silver-black body with four arms and a jagged nightmare of a face. Artoo howled and split apart, shifting to his own humanoid form just as the other droid impacted against him. They went down in a tangle of silver-black and blue-white, punching and gouging at one another, furious chattering and frantic beeping filling the air.

As if the impromptu scuffle between the two droids were a signal, Vader moved. He stepped forward, a shaft of blood-red light springing to life as he pulled a lightsaber from his belt and ignited it. The weapon swung up in a blazing ruby arc, the ominous hum nearly drowned out by the pitched metallic battle at his feet.

Obi-Wan reacted with shocking speed for a man his age – the cuffs that made up his disguise as a "captive" dropped from his wrists, and a bar of blue-white light flashed to life to block the scarlet blade. Jedi and Dark Lord locked gazes, the air about them almost crackling with tension as they sized one another up. Chewie and Han backed away, and though Luke held his ground it took all his strength not to run.

"Arrest them," Vader ordered, his voice resonant as thunder. "I'll handle the Jedi."

 _This has to be some kind of record for "fastest any plan has gone to hell,"_ Luke thought as he brought his blaster to bear. _And why are there Cybertronians on this space station? Did the Decepticons join the Empire?_

A cluster of stormtroopers rushed forward, guns drawn, but slowed as the two Cybertronians rolled closer to them. They stared, dumbfounded, at the tangle of machinery, as if unsure how to proceed.

That was all the hesitation Han needed, apparently. He reached over and punched the release on Chewbacca's cuffs, and the Wookie let out an almighty bellow as he charged the stunned troopers. Before they could gather their wits enough to shoot he was bowling them over with broad sweeps of his arms, knocking helms together and clearing a path.

"Don't just stand there gaping!" Han shouted. "Let's get inside and shut down that tractor beam!"

Luke shook his head. "But the others!"

"Kid!" Han snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him past the wrestling droids. "Let 'em distract the Imperials for us! They'll catch up!"

Luke followed… but his gut clenched as he chanced a glance back at their allies. Artoo and his most-likely-Decepticon assailant still writhed on the hangar floor, the silver mech's claws scratching strips of paint from Artoo's armor and Artoo wrenching the attacker's spindly limbs so hard it was a wonder they didn't snap off. Chewbacca continued to clobber and toss his own attackers, his roars ripping through the air as he hurled them in every direction or felled them with heavy blows. Obi-Wan and Vader had finally ended their own standoff, and their weapons carved brilliant arcs in the air as they dueled, plasma blades clashing, moving about the hangar in a deadly waltz as they sought a fatal opening.

 _They're earning us an escape… but are they going to pay for it with their lives?_

The growl of an engine overrode the noise of pitched battle, and a violet hoverbike streaked down Falcon's ramp and lurched to a halt in front of Luke and Han.

"Get on!" she ordered.

"Arcee!" Luke shouted. "Your cover…"

"Is blown anyhow," she insisted. "Right now we need speed more than we need stealth. Let's go!"

Han muttered something that Luke was sure contained the word "crazy" before leaping aboard the bike, Luke just behind him. "We've got to find some kind of control room. That should tell us where the nearest shutoff point for the tractor beam is."

"Got it," Arcee replied. "Hold on tight everyone!" And she shot off, nearly running over a startled technician as she veered down the first corridor that presented itself

* * *

Had the sight of his old master not filled Vader with an instant, unquenchable rage, he might have actually laughed. This was shaping up to be a day long remembered – it had seen the beginning of an alliance that would enable him to crush the Rebellion and overthrow the Emperor, and it would see the end of his hated foe and, with him, the Jedi Order. He couldn't have planned this better had he tried.

The howls of the Wookie and the screeching of the two Cybertronians faded into the background as he immersed himself in the duel, letting the Force sink into his bones and cybernetic struts to guide his actions. He hacked and slashed, every move aimed to cut and rend, never giving his opponent a moment to regroup. Obi-Wan countered every strike, but remained on the defensive – the onslaught of blows was too aggressive, raining down too fast to give him a moment to mount an attack of his own.

 _You're getting tired, old man,_ Vader gloated. _Once you could hold your own against me… but no more. When we parted ways, I was but the learner… but now I am the master._

He hadn't expected an answer, but a mental sigh entered his mind anyhow. _Only a master of evil, Darth Vader._

Vader snarled and struck at Obi-Wan's head, pouring more savagery into his slashes and jabs. The old Jedi blocked each blow, but his arms shook and sweat glistened at his temples. He was tiring, fast – it would be a matter of moments before he felled the last of the Jedi, and had his ultimate revenge.

 _You've weakened,_ he taunted. _Grown soft and rusted in your old age. Once you would have been a worthy opponent… now you're merely a nuisance. A pest to be crushed underfoot._

 _You know you can't win, Darth Vader,_ came the reply. _Strike me down, and I'll only become more powerful than you can possibly imagine._ The words contained no derision or arrogance, but were stated matter-of-factly, as if no one could contest their truth. _And I see you have guests aboard this station… Cybertronians. Decepticons, I take it?_

Vader stabbed at the man's gut, a strike barely swatted aside by an azure blade. _Whereas you come here accompanied by at least one Autobot. You always were one to set yourself against me at every opportunity._

 _I sense you've struck a deal with them,_ Obi-Wan went on as if Vader hadn't "spoken." _Be careful, Vader… I fear you interfere in matters beyond your strength to control._

Vader snarled and renewed his assault, unleashing a flurry of blows that drove Obi-Wan back into the shadow of the battered freighter. Even now, weak and at the Dark Lord's mercy, the old man didn't know when to shut his mouth. Well, he'd not be a thorn in his side much longer…

* * *

Artoo was no stranger to situations far outside his programming parameter's ability to handle… but grappling with a psychotic shape-changing mouse droid was a unique even for him. Not for the first time he cursed his lack of combat programming, and struggled to defend himself as he scrambled for some means to escape this situation. If he could just get his arm free long enough to activate his cannon…

The Decepticon – what else could this mech be? – hissed and gibbered in rage as he clawed at Artoo's chassis, scratching off lines of paint as he scrambled for a gap in his opponent's plating. Artoo batted his hands aside and grabbed his lower set of arms, twisting them until the creature screeched in pain. That slowed his assault, but by no means stopped it – the Decepticon seemed bound and determined to keep fighting through the pain.

"Fraggin' Autobots!" he hissed, jamming a clawed hand into a gap in Artoo's torso armor. "Stupid of you to come here! Why don't you just roll over and give up already? We're gonna find Megatron AND the Allspark, and wipe you all off the face of the universe!"

Artoo brought his fist down on his attacker's arm, bending it at a painful-looking angle. The creature hissed and yanked his arm back… then screeched as he caught a blast of Artoo's energy cannon in the chest. The force of the blast knocked him nearly three meters back, sending him skidding across the hangar floor to land at the feet of a stunned-looking Grand Moff Tarkin.

"Fraggin' little glitch…" the Decepticon snarled, only to shriek again as Tarkin reflexively kicked him away, back at Artoo.

"What under the stars is going on here?" the Grand Moff demanded.

"Keep your nose out of this, squishy!" the Decepticon hissed before charging Artoo again.

Tarkin grimaced, obviously of the mindset that machines had no right to talk back to their masters, but backed slowly away from the various skirmishes in the hangar. Evidently he'd decided that whatever this madness was, he wanted no part of it.

The silver Decepticon scrambled to his feet, shook himself, and charged Artoo… but the astromech had taken advantage of that moment of distraction to prepare himself. Not satisfied with the energy cannon's lack of visible damage, he'd opted for one of his original form's tools. It had never been intended to be a weapon… but he was a master of adapting his built-in gadgets to suit his own needs.

The Decepticon leaped, claws outstretched… and screamed, optics flaring bright blue in shock, as the whirling blade of the buzzsaw met his neck strut, separating his head from his body. The chassis thumped to the floor, flailed like a dying spider, and went still; the head bounced away, coming to rest beneath one of Falcon's landing struts.

Artoo clicked in satisfaction and retracted his buzzsaw, then bolted down the hallway where he'd seen Arcee and Luke vanish. Those two seemed adept at getting themselves into trouble, and he wanted to be there to pull them out when the inevitable slag hit the fan.

He never noticed Frenzy's severed head sprouting legs, nor did he stick around to watch the little hacker scramble up the strut and latch himself onto her plating.

* * *

Falcon had never been so frightened in her life. Granted, she'd only been sentient and aware for a matter of hours by this point, but the point still stood. Han was gone, her friends were either fighting for their lives or hiding to save themselves, and she was under strict orders to hold still and stay in her alt mode. She wanted desperately to help, but was powerless to do anything but sit and watch.

Chewbacca howled as a blaster bolt struck his shoulder, briefly igniting his fur. He whirled, drawing his bowcaster, and fired at the stormtrooper that had taken the shot. The trooper went down, but two more raised their weapons to take his place.

 _Chewie, be careful,_ she thought, shivering down to her landing struts. Despite only recently gaining awareness, she still had plenty of memories of Chewbacca in her memory banks, and she was every bit as fond of the Wookie as she was of Han Solo. The three of them had been teammates for a long time, even if she'd been a passive member for much of that time, and the thought of harm coming to either of the organics in her care was unthinkable. Seeing him wounded, even slightly, made rage burn in her newly forged spark.

 _Falcon._ Optimus Prime's voice sounded over her comm at that moment, as if he'd sensed her anger. _Hold back. They cannot know you're Cybertronian._

 _But Chewie's hurt! And Obi-Wan can't hold out much longer!_ She almost mentioned Artoo as well, but the astromech had just cut down his attacker and bolted away. _I have to do something!_

 _Hold your ground,_ Prime insisted. _Arcee's helping Luke and Han disable the tractor beam, and we'll be able to escape shortly. They can't know you're Cybertronian._

 _You said that already! And they already know we exist – they just saw Artoo and that freaky little guy fighting! Our cover's already blown, what's one more transforming droid to them?_

 _Falcon, trust me,_ Prime ordered. _You have to-_

Anything else Prime had to say fell on deaf audials. Vader and Obi-Wan's fight had moved to just under her bow, and her scanners picked up every thrust and parry, every flash of plasma and fountain of sparks as the combatants traded blows. One slash of red, two…

Obi-Wan's gaze flickered up toward her, and for a moment she swore he'd looked directly into one of the cameras set into her bow. Then he gave a slight nod… and lowered his weapon, looking directly at his opponent as if daring him to make the next move.

Vader dared – with one sweep of his crimson saber, he cut the aged Jedi down.

Falcon's bellow of rage thundered through the hangar, bringing all movement to a standstill. Then soldiers and technicians scattered in panic – and even Vader stepped back in surprise – as the freighter shifted, plating splitting apart, transforming to her titanic robot size.

" _You… are going… to pay for that,"_ she thundered.

* * *

Arcee drew up to the doors of the nearest control room, swerving to one side as she braked to a halt. "You're sure this is right? I'd hate to think we took a wrong turn and wasted our time."

"Only one way to find out." Han dismounted and hurried to the doors, punching at the control pad. "Locked. I'm gonna guess the fighting in the hangar's got this place on lockdown."

Luke raised his hand, ready to bring it down on the hoverbike's chassis in frustration, but checked the blow just in time. "How are we going to get in? We don't have a passcode or a keycard!"

"No, but you've got me." Arcee bucked slightly beneath him, and Luke took the hint and dismounted. She heaved upright, shifting to robot mode, and approached the doors.

"You can pick locks?" asked Luke.

"In a sense," she replied… and she drew her crossbow and fired a missile point-blank at the doors. The resulting explosion rent a gaping hole in the thick metal and cut a swath of destruction through the room inside, sending stormtroopers and other personnel scattering.

Han whistled. "Damn, you want a spot on my crew once this Allspark business is over with?"

Arcee shrugged. "We'll see what the future holds once we're out of here." She ducked into the room, flinching as blaster fire peppered her armor. "Ouch! Hold your fire! Lay down your weapons and you won't be hurt!"

The Imperials ignored her and kept firing – though Luke wasn't sure he blamed them. If a three-meter-tall robot blasted its way into a room he would have probably shot at it too, regardless of any assurances it made that it meant no harm.

Han charged into the room, opening fire. Luke drew his weapon and joined him without thinking, squeezing off a shot at the trooper that had just pulled a grenade from his belt and was preparing to lob it in Arcee's direction. The soldier took the blast in the throat, convulsing once before crumpling to the floor.

 _I just killed a man._ The thought burned in Luke's mind, obliterating all else for a moment. He'd never taken a life before, and the realization of it left a cold chill in his gut. He had blood on his hands now, and nothing could change that.

The moment passed as a swath of white-hot energy surged past him, narrowly missing his chest, and he turned to fire at his attacker. Another white-armored soldier fell, then a third that had just reached toward a console to sound an alarm. The moment of shock and horror had passed, and he only had time to react, to defend…

The last body fell, and Han lowered his weapon and moved to the nearest computer terminal. Luke let his gun-arm fall, staring numbly at the carnage they'd inflicted. It had been self-defense, he knew… but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been forever marked by this moment, and would never again be the same.

A large hand came down to lightly touch his shoulder. "Luke?"

He shook himself and looked up at Arcee. "I'm fine," he insisted, a little too quickly.

Her optics darkened, and he somehow sensed that she knew he was lying. But she didn't press it. "It's never easy, taking a life for the first time. But you do what you have to do to survive, especially in a war. I'm sorry."

Luke nodded, feeling a little of the ice in his gut thaw. "Thanks."

"If you two are done with your little heart-to-heart-" Han cut in.

"Heart to spark, if you want to get technical," Arcee corrected.

"Whatever." He jabbed a finger at the console display. "If you're done, we might want to get to the tractor beam controls. They're in a shaft a few levels down from us."

"A shaft?" Luke repeated. "Sounds like a stupid place to put any kind of controls."

"Something that important, they probably figure they don't want it easy to access," Han noted. "Now let's book it. I don't like the thought of Falcon sitting out there longer than she has to."

"You're right," Arcee replied. "And the longer we stay here, the better chance the Empire has of taking the Allspark from us. We'd better hurry-"

Pain tore through Luke's chest, searing through his nerves and engulfing his entire body. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His vision whited out, a high roar like static filled his ears, his throat burned as if he'd just swallowed acid. The agony seemed to rip something out of his very core, leaving him hollow and numb. Something had gone wrong, very wrong, but what he couldn't fathom…

"…wrong? Luke! What's going on? Han, he's malfunctioning!"

"Kid, get up!" For the first time since they'd met him, Han sounded worried. "What just happened?"

Luke regained his senses to find himself laying on the control room floor, curled up in a tight ball and drenched with sweat beneath his armor. He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Something had happened… something terrible…

"Ben," he croaked, though why that name came first in his mind he couldn't fathom.

"Ben?" Han repeated. "Who's Ben?"

Before Luke could reply, a horrific roar echoed down the corridor – a roar that sounded strangely metallic. Arcee jerked, and her optics flared in horror. "Oh no…"

"You too?" Han demanded. "Did everyone just get psychic powers now or what?"

"That was Optimus on the comm," she replied. "We've got problems… we have to get to that tractor beam control, now!"


	14. Untimely Arrival

Any sense of triumph Vader might have felt at finally cutting Obi-Wan Kenobi down was obliterated in an instant as a horrific roar filled the hangar. He barely had time to register that the fight was over before the freighter looming over him bucked and writhed, splitting apart at the seams. It lurched, unfurling like some titanic metal flower, rising on two legs as fiery blue optics blazed down at him with absolute hatred.

 _Stars…_ He backed away, saber raised in token defense against the giant. _Not just droids, then… any machine could be one of these beings…_

The titan glowered, fists clenched, metallic dental plates bared in a snarl. _"You are going to pay for that,"_ she thundered, voice resonant and furious.

Tarkin found his voice at last. "Destroy it immediately!"

The remaining troops in the hangar opened fire, and the towering Cybertronian roared as plasma struck her plating. She raised an arm, and a gun turret emerged from a panel in her armor to unleash a hail of return fire. Soldiers scattered, ducking for cover wherever possible, and Tarkin bolted for the nearest set of doors to spare his own hide.

Vader held his ground but raised a hand, letting the bolts ricochet off a hasty shield. The titan roared her frustration and focused all her fire on him, and he grimaced with the effort to hold the Force-shield firm. Blast it, he hadn't counted on facing something of this magnitude today…

The mechanical giant shuddered, and a panel in her back fell open, disgorging several more of the metallic titans. Compared to her these ones were quite small, but they still towered over the humans, with even the smallest being over twice Vader's height. They landed with bone-jarring thuds and moved to surround the titan, blades sliding from hidden panels in their arms or hands shifting and reconfiguring into wicked cannons.

"Y'ALL WANT SOME, HUH?!" a bulky black mechanism roared, firing a whirling cannon into the air. "COME AT ME, PUNKS!"

"Cool your fraggin' jets, Ironhide," a green Cybertronian grumbled. "We're just holding 'em off until Arcee gets back."

"Ruin my fun, why don't you-"

A gesture from the tallest of the beings, a blue and scarlet mechanism with a sleek silver mask covering most of its face, cut the argument off. Bright blue optical sensors rested on Vader, and though every joint and servo in the being's body tensed for combat, there was a strange calm in its optics.

 _There's something about this mechanism,_ Vader realized. _It… he… whatever it is burns not just with the living Force, but something more…_

No. It couldn't be. Incredible enough to find that a machine could know life and sentience, but for a mechanical life form to possess Force sensitivity was impossible. It flew in the face of countless Jedi teachings and scientific facts. And yet here this creature stood, blazing within the framework of both the living Force and the cosmic Force, deeply connected to both and somehow aware of that connection itself.

Such a creature could be a powerful asset, both in the wealth of knowledge he could gain from it and the advantage it might grant him in his quest to overthrow Palpatine. Not to mention that securing one or more of these Autobots might help him secure an alliance with Megatron, once he had found and freed the Decepticon commander. Perhaps this was worth delaying his journey to Corusant.

"Humans, stand down," the blue-and-red mech ordered in a deep, commanding tone. "We do not wish to hurt you-"

A shaft of plasma struck the Cybertronian in the shoulder, cutting him off.

"I think they wanna hurt us, boss-bot," a silver mech with an angular visor in place of optical sensors noted.

"No slag, genius," Ironhide grumbled.

"Take the blue one alive," Vader ordered. "Capture the rest or put them out of commission. Use any means necessary."

* * *

The shuttle vibrated beneath Leia's crouched form, and she couldn't help but wince. What was going on out there? Just a few minutes ago she'd been chafing at the delay in their departure, wondering if Vader knew he had stowaways and was making them sweat before flushing them out. But then she'd heard blaster fire, and a horrific grinding sound, and explosions… Had the station come under attack? Had the Alliance jumped the gun, or had the occupants of the captured freighter decided not to surrender without a fight?

Beaky gnashed his mandibles, and the pink armor on his shoulders flared briefly before settling back down. "Stupid… stupid, all of them… why do I work with losers?"

"What's happening?" she demanded. "Beaky, do you know what's going on out there?"

He hissed and pressed a hand to her shoulder, pushing her back down to the floor of the shuttle's baggage bay. "Nothing to concern yourself over, Your Highness."

"If it means delaying us leaving this abomination of a battle station, then I'm concerning myself over it," she retorted. "What's going on out there?"

She didn't know how Beaky managed it, but somehow the droid actually rolled his optics at her. "My… comrade… blew his cover. Caused a little excitement, that's all."

"That doesn't sound like a little excitement," she retorted as the shuttle vibrated again. If she didn't know any better, some of those "explosions" sounded a lot like footsteps… but that wasn't possible. Even Tarkin wouldn't be stupid enough to have walkers aboard this station. Then again, Imperial officers weren't known for working logically.

"I advise you to stay put, Your Highness," Beaky rasped. "After all the trouble I went to getting you out of your cell and on this ship, I wouldn't want to see you hurt."

"Then cover my back while I find a window," she retorted, and made to stand.

Beaky's grip on her shoulder tightened, and she flinched as his digits dug in with enough force to bruise. "I insist, Your Highness. It's my job to ensure you leave this space station intact. I suggest you cooperate."

Was the droid _threatening_ her? "Beaky, let go. That's an order."

Beaky's optics flashed. "I don't take orders from you." A panel on his wrist flicked open, and a gleaming object slid out – a hypodermic needle. "You are staying aboard this ship. If you won't stay of your own free will, then I have permission to subdue you."

"Permission from who?" she shot back, struggling to keep her voice calm. Just _what_ was Beaky anyhow? No military prototype should be armed, or have this advanced of a personality or processor yet.

One thing was for sure – the Alliance didn't send this droid. Whether it was an Imperial assassin or some hench-droid of the Black Sun, who could say… but it didn't matter in the end.

"Get down," Beaky repeated. "Don't make me do something you'll regret."

"I repeat, who are you working for?" she demanded. Most droids would respond to such a direct request, but this droid had already proven he wasn't most droids.

"None of your concern, Your Highness," Beaky sneered. "Are you going to comply, or should I sedate you for the journey?"

She hesitated… then lowered her head, shoulders slumped, looking away. "I… I will cooperate," she murmured, her voice heavy with defeat.

"Very good." The needle slid back into hiding. "You have some sense in that organic slush in your skull after-"

The sentence terminated in a shriek as Leia put her hands on the nearest supply crate and shoved it into the droid, slamming him into the wall. Before he could process just what had happened she bolted for the hatch they'd used to board the shuttle. She had no doubt the droid would be hot on her heels in moments – she just hoped her little show of submission and her surprise attack had bought her enough time to get away.

* * *

Arcee braked to a halt before a narrow catwalk, slewing to one side to get as close to it as she dared. "This is as far as I can go. I don't trust my balance on something that narrow."

"You did good, Arcee," Luke assured her, patting her handlebars before dismounting. "I'm going out there. You two keep watch."

"Watch your step, kid," Han advised. "Nobody's going to be there to catch you if you fall. Unless Miss Vita here can fly as well as change shape."

"Most Autobots aren't equipped with thrusters," Arcee replied, either missing the sarcasm or electing to ignore it. "Be careful, Luke."

Luke nodded and set off down the catwalk at a brisk but cautious walk. He had to question just who built this station and what kind of spice or deathsticks they were smoking while they did so – who put the controls to something as important as a tractor beam in the middle of an empty shaft like this? And who built flimsy, narrow walkways across said shafts without any handrails? Sure, their primary focus had probably been the station's turbolaser, but still, people still had to work aboard this thing.

He had made it halfway to the end of the catwalk when a ribbon of plasma sizzled through the air to his right, almost spooking him into a deadly fall. He turned to see Han and Arcee opening fire on a cluster of stormtroopers, the Autobot scout still in the process of shifting into her droid form even as she fired her wrist cannon at the Imperial soldiers. Several of the white-armored minions had already fallen, but it seemed that for every one they shot down another quickly took his place.

Luke gritted his teeth and ran for the pillar that marked the end of the catwalk… and the control panel that gleamed there. The Empire had already taken so much from him – his father, his adopted family, his home, his mentor. He wouldn't let it take his friends as well, even if he'd only known them a few days at best.

He reached the control panel just as a blast hit the pillar just over his head, carving out a blackened crater in the gray metal. He worked quickly, pulling the levers that cut off first the main power to the tractor beam, then the auxiliary power. Hopefully that would do the trick – or else Falcon was in for a very short flight when they got back.

A scream rang across the shaft, and he whirled to see Arcee fall to her knees. For a heart-stopping moment he feared she'd taken a fatal shot… but then he saw the cords stretching taut from her chassis, as thin as spinner-web strands from this distance. Several troopers had brought grappling guns to bear, aiming to tangle her up and drag her down instead of shooting her. Han shouted something Luke couldn't make out and grabbed for one of the lines, trying to free her, but a trooper yanked him away before he could loosen or break the line.

"No!" Luke bolted, drawing his gun, firing at the Imperials as he charged down the catwalk toward them. The Empire had taken too much from him – he wasn't going to let it take the closest friend he had left! Even if that friend was a gigantic robotic life form…

A grappling hook embedded itself in her wrist joint, yanking it to the side. Arcee jerked back, sending the trooper skidding off the ledge and into the shaft with a hollow scream. She grabbed for a hook caught in her shoulder, but another line caught her wrist and jerked it free.

"Arcee!" Luke fired again, and the trooper struggling to wrestle cuffs onto Han's wrists went down with a smoking hole in his side. Han wrenched himself away from his captors and rushed back to Arcee's side, drawing a vibroknife from his belt and hacking at the lines.

Luke was almost to the end of the catwalk when disaster struck. A hook struck the crossbow affixed to Arcee's arm, and as she struggled to jerk her limb free the weapon disconnected. It fell from her arm and into the shaft.

"NO!" Her optics blazed with horror, and she surged to her feet with a burst of renewed strength. Her captors hauled on the lines, trying to drag her back down, but she roared her anger and swept them aside with a swipe of her arm. Han backed away, and even Luke halted in his tracks at this new, dangerous side to the scout.

 _She was holding back before,_ he realized. _She still didn't want to hurt anyone. But what finally ticked her off enough to fight back…_

"The Allspark!" she screamed. "The crossbow!"

Luke's gut lurched. She'd been carrying the Allspark in her weapon? No, it couldn't be lost… not after everything her people had done to save it…

A flash of violet caught his eye, and he gazed down to see the weapon hanging in midair below the ledge where Arcee grappled with her would-be captors. He gaped a moment, then saw the line attached to the weapon. A stormtrooper gripped the grappling gun at the other end of the cord, struggling not to be pulled over the edge by the weapon's weight.

Why the trooper didn't just let go of the weapon to save his own hide he didn't know – maybe he was under orders to retrieve the weapon, or maybe he was one of the less-bright clonetroopers that made up the bulk of the Empire's rank-and-file. But his idiocy was the Autobots' gain.

Luke surged forward again, firing at the soldier. The man jerked back, then crumpled, his grip loosening… just in time for Luke to grab the weapon and relieve him of it. The crossbow's weight threatened to pull his arm out of its socket, but he held on gamely.

The troopers scattered as a wild howl ripped through the air… a howl that he knew all too well by this point. Chewbacca emerged from the thick of the troops, bowling them over with wide sweeps of his arms. Artoo followed hot on the Wookie's heels, in his bipedal form and firing well-placed blasts of an energy cannon at the knees and ankles of any troops who refused to get out of their way.

"Beautiful timing, Chewie," Han grumbled, not looking up from sawing through a cord that had caught Arcee's ankle.

Chewie barked a retort.

"Well, it's not like we've been sitting around twiddling our thumbs either!"

Artoo rushed to Luke's side and grabbed the cord, and together they managed to slowly but surely reel the crossbow in. Arcee shook off the last of the lines binding her and bent down to retrieve the weapon, opening the magazine to ensure its precious cargo was intact.

"So that's what all this fuss is about," Han murmured as Arcee drew the cube out of its hiding place, turning it from side to side as if examining it for cracks or other damage. "That's what turned Falcon into… whatever she is?"

Arcee nodded, still gazing reverently at the cube. "This is the artifact that gave our race life… and will hopefully save it once again." She tucked it back into the crossbow and refastened it to her arm. "So long as we use its power responsibly."

"Huh." Han mulled over that a moment. "Do us all a favor and don't drop it. I'd hate to think what'll happen if it touches any surface on this station."

Luke winced. He wasn't sure what kind of living being something as deadly as the Death Star would make, but he knew he didn't want to find out. "Let's get that thing back to Optimus and get out of here."

A shadow crossed Arcee's optics, but before Luke could ask her what was wrong she had folded herself back into her hoverbike mode. "I'm with you, Luke. Before Falcon tears the place down. The last comm I got, she'd gone berserk."

"Oh poodoo," Han groaned, and he leaped aboard Arcee and gripped her handlebars. "Hold on, baby, I'm coming…"

Chewie growled as he hopped on behind Han.

"Oh hush, I was calling her baby long before she got a brain of her own!"

Luke jumped onto the bike behind Chewie, and Artoo leaped up to cling to the back of the bike. Arcee took off, though notably slower than before. He hoped their combined weight wasn't too much for her to handle.

They arrived back on a scene of chaos. Falcon had both arms extended, her guns unleashing a hail of destruction throughout the hangar that laid waste to fighters, shuttles, and troops everywhere one looked. The Autobots were gathered at her feet, firing on any soldiers who tried getting too close. A haze of smoke filled the hangar like a fog of war, cut through with ribbons of red and green plasma, and rending metal and hissing bolts of blaster fire melded together in a cacophony of violence.

Vader himself stood in the thick of the battle, completely untouched by any of the weapon fire. His gaze was fixed on the Autobots… or rather, on Optimus Prime, as if trying to bring the Autobot leader down with the power of his stare alone. Even as Luke watched the black-armored warlord approached the mech, one slow step at a time, saber at his side.

 _No…_ Luke's hand dropped to the hip pouch of his armor, where he'd stowed his father's lightsaber before leaving Falcon. He wasn't going to let this demon cut down Optimus Prime. He had already destroyed Luke's family, and helped the Empire tighten its grip of tyranny on the galaxy at large – he couldn't be allowed to destroy the last hope of the Autobots either.

 _I can get in one strike,_ he decided. _I don't have any illusions of being able to beat him in a fight, not when I've only had one lesson with this thing… but I can distract him, buy Optimus time to escape… maybe even get a mortal wound in if I'm lucky…_

Artoo squealed and grabbed his hand, breaking him out of his deadly thoughts. He glanced down at the astromech, ready to snap in irritation, but the droid cut him off with a flurry of frantic beeps. His mismatched optics blazed with emotion as he gestured wildly to the shuttle that stood at the ready not far from where Falcon towered.

"What…" he began, then caught sight of a white figure huddled in the shadows. For a moment he could only stare, struck by how familiar this woman seemed but unable to place her…

 _The hologram! This is the woman from the hologram Artoo showed me! The one who started this whole mess!_

Something dropped from the bottom of the shuttle – a mass of pink-and-black metal that resolved itself into a humanoid form. It shuddered, pink panels folding back and chassis splitting until an entirely new shape took its place, a winged and beaked creature like a mechanical hawk-bat with blazing red optics. It shook itself, half-unfurling its wings, then stalked toward the woman.

 _Decepticon!_ Luke didn't even stop to wonder why a Decepticon would be stalking a human woman – he raised his gun and fired at the creature.

The woman whirled as the bolt hit home, striking the creature's torso and setting it to screeching and flapping in a frenzy. She took an instant to assess what was happening, then to her credit didn't stop to scream or panic but ran for a scattered jumble of supply crates for safety. The Decepticon scrambled to its feet and made its way after her, metallic wings flailing as it tried in vain to take to the air.

Luke hurried forward to put himself between the woman and the robotic creature, gun raised in an obvious threat. The mechanical prey-bird lumbered to a halt, hissing at him, smoke still rising from its scorched chest, but it made no move to approach.

 _Yeah, try it, bird-brain,_ he thought. _Not so brave when you have to pick on someone your own size, are you-_

His knee buckled beneath him, and he fell with a yowl into the jumble of crates. The woman had driven her elbow right into the thinly armored joint, and now she pounced on him, trying to wrestle the gun out of his grip. Artoo shrieked and tugged on her arm in an effort to stop her, but she swatted him away.

"Hey!" He yanked the gun out of her reach. "I'm trying to help you!"

"Since when do stormtroopers help Rebel captives?" she retorted.

"Wha- oh, the uniform!" He sat up, wrenching the helmet off. "I'm not a stormtrooper, ma'am. I'm just a farm kid. But I'm trying to help you!"

She stared at him… and Luke felt his heart jolt in his chest. She was beautiful up close, and the sight of her stirred peculiar memories in him – memories and a strange desire to protect her at all costs. Was this what love at first sight felt like? No, it didn't feel quite like love… then again, he was a sheltered farm kid that had never really had a girlfriend, how was he supposed to know…

"I should have guessed," she muttered. "You're a little short for an Imperial soldier."

"Hey!" That was a little uncalled for, he thought.

Artoo howled and waved his arms frantically, and Luke turned to see a hatch on the Decepticon's back open, revealing a tiny but wicked-looking missile. The projectile hissed to life and streaked toward him… only to be batted aside by a huge black-plated hand.

"Bug off, Laserbeak," Ironhide rumbled, raising a fist. "Unless you want me to squash ya."

The Decepticon – Laserbeak – rasped a few words in what sounded like a mangled version of Binary. Then he fixed Luke and the woman with a poisonous glower. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Ironhide brought his fist down, and Laserbeak scurried out of the way with centimeters to spare. He squawked and hissed in outrage as he flapped his way back under the shuttle, out of the Autobot's reach.

"Don't turn your back on a 'Con next time, kid," Ironhide grumbled. "Liable to get ya shot."

"Thanks," Luke told him, climbing to his feet.

The woman just stared up at Ironhide, and Luke guessed at a few of the questions that must be whirling through her mind right now and answered a few as best as he could. "It's okay, he's an Autobot – I'll explain what that is later. Yes, he's on our side. No, we're not with the Rebellion, but we're on our way there. I'm Luke Skywalker, the big one's Ironhide, and the short one's Artoo… though I guess he used to be your astromech droid."

Artoo tootled cheerfully and waved. The woman waved back without thinking, still looking as if she'd just been hit over the head. Then she shook herself, seeming to snap out of her trance.

"I'm Leia Organa, Senator – former Senator of Alderaan," she replied, her voice cool and only slightly wavering with shock at everything she'd just witnessed. "I'd ask just what you've done to my droid, but I'm guessing it's the least of our concerns right now."

"Frag right about that," Ironhide growled. "Falcon's just blown our cover. We're tryin' to fight our way outta here, but that's gonna be useless unless we can get 'er to calm the frag down an' let us board."

"Get Han close to her if you can," Luke urged. "He's known her for a long time, he might be able to talk her down. And keep Darth Vader away from Prime! I don't like the looks he was giving him!"

"Which one of the squishies is Vader?" Sideswipe demanded, skidding to a halt close by. "All you tiny organics look the same to me."

"The one in black," Luke replied. "With the cloak and the red laser sword. Be careful – he's a Force user."

Sideswipe nodded. "I'm on it. The punk won't know what hit 'im." He grinned and darted away.

"If you think you can get the Senator to the ship without getting' yourselves shot, I'll go help the kid," Ironhide rumbled. "Though might serve him right to get a few plasma scars in his finish-"

Falcon's angry roaring suddenly cut off, and the titanic femme tilted her head as if responding to a voice only she could hear. Her optics dimmed slightly in concentration… then brightened with horror.

" _Oh… no… Prime! Something's coming!"_

Before Prime could respond, a new alarm sounded through the hangar, nearly drowned out by the continued sounds of the Imperial-Autobot battle. Luke barely had time to wonder what was going on when his gaze fixed on a cluster of shapes swooping toward the hangar opening – a Lambda-class shuttle flanked by two TIE fighters, one deep blue and the other jet-black with violet trim.

 _I've seen those before… oh NO._ The Decepticons had caught up with them at the worst possible time.


	15. Escape and Capture

Leia barely had time to react to the sudden presence of a gigantic, smart-mouthed droid looming over her before plasma fire ripped through the hangar, shredding through the shuttle she had just abandoned and scattering stormtroopers and ground crews. She caught a quick glimpse of a jet-black TIE fighter, its wings trimmed in violet, before Artoo shoved her back down to the floor. A shaft of green energy sizzled over her head, so close she could smell crisped hair and ozone.

 _Some idiotic Imperial warlord picked a fine time to attempt a coup,_ she thought… just as the TIE unfolded and smashed to the hangar floor not ten meters from them, landing on splayed metallic feet and its wings clicking into place on its shoulders.

"Ugh, it figures," it snarled, raising clawed hands as it faced Ironhide. "Wherever we find Autobots, we find gross flesh creatures too! What is it with your obsession with pets?"

"You wanna find my cannon up your exhaust, Skywarp?!" Ironhide snarled, and he slammed a fist into the TIE-turned-droid's face. Skywarp staggered, hissing in agony as fluids dripped from his mandibles.

Leia pushed Artoo away and climbed to her feet… and wished she'd just stayed down. More starcraft were touching down, shifting into towering bipedal forms and launching themselves into a tangled battle more savage than any she'd ever seen. The hangar rang with the cacophony of metal striking metal, grunts and shouts and screeches of anger and pain, thuds of titanic feet striking the floor. The cries of troops caught in the crossfire could barely be heard over the roar of battle.

She bent down to collect a dropped blaster, though somehow she felt it would be little help against these giants. She'd expected a fight out here… but nothing like THIS. Not on this scale, or with this level of savagery.

"Damn it," Luke muttered. "We weren't expecting them to catch up with us this quickly."

"Who are they?" Leia demanded.

"Decepticons," Luke replied. "Pretty much to the Autobots what the Empire is to us. Bad news."

"How are we supposed to get past them?"

"I dunno, but we've got to try." He pointed to the tallest of the droids, a titan who had just hunched down like a child crouching to inspect a small animal. "Get to Falcon, the big one. She's our ride out of here."

"THAT'S your ride?"

Luke nodded. "She used to be a freighter. Long story."

Leia recalled the freighter she had seen before Beaky had lured her aboard the shuttle… and realized that the massive mechanism bore markings on her armor that matched said freighter. As unbelievable as it seemed, Luke spoke the truth.

"You flew here in her?" she marveled. "You're braver than I thought."

Another shuttle swooped into the hangar, its wings marked with elaborate, fearsome-looking patterns. It slammed into the hangar floor, and its cargo doors opened to allow more of the giant, fragmented-looking droids spill out. That done, it shuddered and unfolded into a broad-shouldered mechanism with a savage gleam in its scarlet optical sensors, clawed hands sweeping aside a cluster of troopers who had been too slow in trying to get away.

"Decepticons," it snarled, "wipe them out!"

"Which ones?" demanded a blue-armored mech. "The organics or the Autobots?"

The shuttle-former's mandibles split in a feral grin. " _All_ of them!"

A blast of energy smashed into the crates behind them, and the shockwave nearly blew Leia off her feet. She grabbed onto Luke to steady herself, and he grasped her arm and tugged her toward the tallest of the droids. Their ride out of this battle station, as crazy as it seemed…

Then she caught sight of the man standing before the titan, wearing battered trooper armor but with his helmet off to expose a shock of messy brown hair. He gazed up at her, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around him, his expression completely fearless and even gentle. His hand stretched up toward the massive droid, his mouth moving with words Leia couldn't make out at this distance.

Falcon raised a hand of her own, and Leia flinched, sure she was about to see the man crushed. But she lowered it with infinite care, touching his hand with the tip of one finger. Then she nodded and hunched over, her components shifting and reconfiguring, fitting together until a Corellian freighter stood in the giant's place. Her gangplank lowered, and Han charged up the ramp and into the freighter's interior.

Luke blew out a sigh of relief. "Han got her calmed down. Phew… now if we can just get everyone aboard her…"

"How do you know that's a her?" Leia asked, fully aware of how stupid her question was but not caring at the moment.

"I… you know, I'm not sure," Luke replied. "She just sounded like a her."

"Luke, get on board!" the man shouted, charging back down the ramp, all trace of gentleness gone. "Unless you wanna be a permanent resident here!"

"We have to wait for the Autobots!" Luke shouted back.

Han threw his hands up in a gesture of frustration. "We stay around here any longer, we get stomped into grease smears! Grab your girlfriend and let's get while the getting's good!"

Under other circumstances, Leia might have balked at the "girlfriend" comment. But given the pitched battle around them, now didn't seem the time to argue that point.

" _Han, we can't leave them behind!"_ a booming voice insisted, and she started when she realized it was coming from the freighter itself. _"They're our friends! And they have the Allspark!"_

Han opened his mouth as if about to argue, then shut it again. "Slag it… only because they're your friends, Falcon. I'm starting to regret ever taking this job."

"For once I quite agree with you, Master Solo," moaned a familiar electronic voice as a gleaming golden droid - a normal-sized one, thank the stars - appeared at the top of the ramp. "Mistress Falcon, if you could _please_ refrain from transforming again for the duration of this-"

"Threepio!" Leia shouted.

"Mistress Leia!" Threepio shouted back. "Oh, thank the Maker, you're all right!"

Luke finally let go of Leia's arm at the base of the ramp. "Get on board! I've got to go help Optimus and Arcee!"

"Who? No, don't answer that." She could get a full explanation once they weren't in danger of being stomped on or fried to a crisp, she decided. "Where's Artoo?"

The former astromech droid trilled for her attention, waving from the bottom of the ramp. Then he glanced back at the battle, as if longing to run and join in.

"Oh no you don't, Artoo Detoo!" Threepio scolded. "You aren't abandoning the Princess now! Not after all this trouble that YOU caused!"

Artoo raised both hands to flip Threepio a gesture that needed no translation in any language.

"Artoo, get aboard!" Leia ordered. "And those plans better be still intact!" If whatever these lunatics had done to change an astromech into a bipedal mechanism had corrupted that precious information beyond repair, there would be hell to pay.

The droid bleeped and nodded, and finally trotted up the gangplank. A tall, shaggy form loped up after him, pausing to give Leia a quick nod before ducking inside the ship. Leia didn't question what the Wookie was doing in the midst of all this mess - at the moment, he was the least weird member of this crazy rescue party, if that's what it was.

"Luke, get over here!" Han shouted.

The boy stayed at the bottom of the gangplank, gaze fixed on the battle… and on a tall red-and-blue mech who had just rammed a glowing amber axe through the chassis of an attacker. The mottled brown mech jerked and thrashed, clawing at its attacker even in its death throes, but the taller mech threw him to the hangar floor, wrenching his weapon free.

"Autobots!" he shouted, his voice resonant and commanding, cutting through the bedlam like a plasma blade. "To Falcon! Retreat!"

The battle gradually fell apart as mechs disentangled themselves from the fighting and scrambled for the freighter. Leia's stomach clenched, and she backed further into the ship. Luke might trust these Autobots, but so far she'd seen very little evidence to indicate they were friendly. Best get out of the crossfire, just in case.

"Falcon, open your cargo bay!" Han ordered. "Otherwise it's gonna be a very tight fit in here!"

" _It's open!"_ the ship replied. _"Oh, come on, guys, hurry!"_

* * *

Vader was used to being the strongest warrior on the battlefield in any confrontation… and so being forced to run for his life, dodging massive feet and claws and blasts of plasma, was something of a novelty. A dangerous one, but a novelty nonetheless.

A clawed hand impacted just behind him, so close that it ripped shreds out of his cloak as he twisted out of the way. He lashed out with his blade, and the silver-armored mech hissed and jerked back, arm smoking from the blow. The wound was an annoyance to such a massive being, he was sure, but at least it bought him time to run out of the creature's reach.

 _Frenzy and Laserbeak's Decepticon allies arrived much sooner than I anticipated,_ he mused. _An annoyance… but perhaps this can work to our advantage._

Tarkin hung back just inside the hangar entrance, his gaze fixed on the tangle of machinery that made up the battle. Vader curled his lip beneath his helmet. Of course the Grand Moff would flee at the first opportunity but be perfectly happy watching the battle from the sidelines. Why were the biggest cowards also the greatest voyeurs when it came to the dirty business of war?

By this point few troopers remained in the hangar - those remaining were either dead or huddled behind broken machinery, firing uselessly and indiscriminately at the gigantic mechs. One squad remained near the hangar door, setting up an ion cannon. Doubtless Tarkin had it in his head to capture one of these mechs for himself and somehow claim its technological secrets for the Empire. Intelligent, if short-sighted.

Vader came to a halt beside the cannon, armor smoking and cloak in tatters. The squad leader screwed a last component into place and swiveled the gun around to aim at the nearest mech, remarkably composed despite the raging battle in front of them.

"Target locked," he muttered, training the barrel onto the nearest mech - a Decepticon who still bore the wings of a Lambda-class shuttle.

Vader raised a hand. "Not that one. Another target."

The squad leader looked at Vader, and he could almost see the gears turning in the soldier's helm as he grappled over whose orders to follow, Vader's or Tarkin's. In the end, he decided on the option that would pose the least risk to his life. "Which target, sir?"

Vader's gaze moved to the battlefield… and to the mechs fleeing toward the waiting freighter. The blue-and-red mech waited by the shuttle's cargo doors, firing on any Decepticons who got too close until his troops could board. That was the obvious target - a Cybertronian strong in the Force, a puzzle he greatly looked forward to solving… and whose solution could reveal staggering secrets that could spell the doom of both the Rebel Alliance and his hated master.

But now that he was no longer fighting for his life, he sensed other disturbances in the Force - two more bright fires that blazed within the framework of the Force, their intensity strong enough to take his breath away had he still possessed control of his lungs. One was centered around a human, a young man who stood beside the blue-and-red Cybertronian and seemed to be doing his level best to protect the giant droid. Noble, if laughable…

 _That boy is strong… stronger than any Jedi I've ever encountered! How could the Purges have missed him?_ Had Obi-Wan happened upon this youth and elected to make a Jedi out of him, hoping to use him as a weapon to destroy the Sith and resurrect that treacherous Order?

A screech of pain ripped through the air, and he turned to see a squat rusty-brown mech hit the ground and writhe in agony. The violet-and-black mech he had been menacing kept her crossbow trained on the mech, but once she was sure he would stay down she turned and bolted for the freighter. Like the blue-and-red mech and the boy, something about her burned with the Force… but it seemed strangely disconnected from her. As if it didn't lie within her, but within something she carried…

Three beings… three convergences in the Force… and time to capture one. The question was which one would be most useful to him… and he had to decide fast.

He made his decision, and he gestured toward the red-and-blue Cybertronian. "Fire at will."

"Yes, sir," the squad leader replied, and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

"Everyone's on their way, sir!" Ratchet shouted, charging for the cargo bay doors.

Prime nodded. "Get aboard. Luke, you as well."

"After you, sir," Luke assured him.

"Luke, this is not the time for-" began Prime.

"Get your aft on board, Prime!" Ratchet barked. "You're no good to us dead!"

Prime's optics flared, and he gave the medic a glare that reminded Luke of Beru staring Uncle Owen down in the midst of an argument. Ratchet returned the glower, then gave a snarl of frustration and hauled himself aboard.

"You as well, Luke," Prime ordered. "You're no match for Decepticons."

"Where's Arcee?" Luke demanded.

Prime glanced up sharply, optics bright with concern. "She holds the Allspark… it was foolish of her to leave the Falcon carrying it. She has to return… for the galaxy's sake."

A tangle of violet and brown metal marked a violent struggle halfway across the hangar… a struggle that ended equally violently as Arcee twisted her crossbow around and fired a missile point-blank into her attacker's chest. She backed away from the thrashing Decepticon, weapon trained on him, before turning and running for Falcon.

"Arcee, get on board!" Prime ordered.

"Yes, sir!" she replied, clutching her crossbow to her chest as she leaped aboard Falcon. Prime nodded, then gestured for Luke to get aboard - like any good commander, he intended to ensure all under his command were safely on board the ship before joining them.

 _She's okay,_ Luke thought, relief swamping him as he turned and charged up Falcon's gangplank. _She's okay and the Allspark's okay. We're going to make it… we're getting out of here..._

Blue light arced across the hangar, slamming into Prime just as he turned to board the freighter. His entire body twitched and crackled with energy as the ion blast coursed through him, overwhelming his systems and shutting them down. An expression of shock remained frozen on his faceplates as he swayed on his feet, then began to fall.

"NO!"

Luke wasn't even aware he had shouted until the closest Decepticon twisted around to glare at him. The blue mech raised his arm, and a swath of laser fire struck Falcon's plating and rained sparks down on the gangplank.

Luke raised his own gun and fired, screaming his anger and horror. Never mind that the blue Decepticon barely even noticed the blasts - he needed a target to vent his anger on. He needed to keep these murderous creatures away from Prime… he needed to protect him, somehow get him aboard the ship…

 _Run, Luke!_

That voice… it sounded like… no, it couldn't be…

 _You have to run, Luke. Get aboard the ship._

This was impossible. Obi-Wan was dead… yet that was clearly his voice. But why would Obi-Wan be encouraging him to abandon the Autobot leader at a time like this…

 _Prime understands sacrifice. Luke… run. Keep the Allspark and the Death Star plans out of the hands of the Empire and the Decepticons._

Luke wanted to argue… but hands grabbed at him, and Leia and Han dragged him aboard before he could fight back. Falcon closed her doors and lifted away, streaking into the blackness of space with her precious cargo…

Leaving Optimus Prime offline on the hangar floor of the Death Star, surrounded by Decepticons and Darth Vader closing in on his prize.

* * *

Starscream watched the freighter go, grinding his dental spikes in frustration. So close… so close, only to be denied again! Every time he thought he had the Allspark in his grasp, it managed to slip through again. These Autobots and their pathetic human friends were going to suffer a long, drawn-out death the next time they crossed paths!

Though at least they'd been kind enough to leave behind a consolation prize. His frustration gave way to a gloating glee as he stalked toward Optimus Prime's fallen chassis. The Autobot leader, the last of the Primes, had been a thorn in the Decepticons' side for far too long… and now he was helpless in the Decepticons' grasp. He, Starscream, had managed what Megatron never could - the capture of Optimus Prime!

"Excellent," he purred, kicking the fallen Prime's leg. "The Autobots revere their foolish Prime. With him as a hostage, perhaps we can arrange an exchange of sorts."

"Unlikely," Blackout grumbled. "The Autobots may worship the ground he walks on, but even they wouldn't be stupid enough to trade the Allspark for him."

"You dare talk back to your commander?" Starscream hissed. "I didn't take YOU for a fool!"

Soundwave stalked closer, optics fixed on Prime. "Optimus: not offline. Locked in short-term stasis. Conclusion: EMP blast resulting from ion charge."

"Care to state anything else blindingly obvious, Soundwave?" Starscream spat. Why did all his troops insist on being so obnoxious and useless?

Soundwave gave Starscream a disdainful glower, then turned to confer with Laserbeak as the mechanical bird flapped down to perch on his shoulder. His communications officer still harbored loyalty to Megatron, despite all Starscream's assurances that their dearly departed leader was never coming back. What was it going to take to knock the delusions out of the satellite-former's helm anyhow?

"Who shot him down?" asked Skywarp, an eager note in his voice. "I ain't got ion cannons. TC, did you get yourself an upgrade while I wasn't looking?"

"Don't be an idiot," Thundercracker retorted. "The humans shot him down."

"The _humans?_ " Starscream's pleasure at having Prime in his clutches curdled to disgust. To think that a stupid organic could manage what the Decepticons couldn't left a sour taste in his fuel intake. He made a note to find out which human was responsible for this and crush them so he could take the credit for himself…

Flatline had been tending to Brawl's wounds close by, but his head jerked up and his dark red optics flashed. "One approaches," he rumbled.

"One what?" demanded Starscream. "Speak in complete sentences, idiot."

"A human," Flatline replied. "A brave one… if moronically foolish."

"Kill it," Starscream growled. "Kill any who get close."

No one responded to his command. Starscream looked up from Prime's chassis, ready to rip into his troops for not leaping to his command… and felt the rant die in his vocalizer. The human who approached them seemed entirely unafraid, walking with a confident stride and exuding an aura of power that even the dimmer Decepticons, like Dropkick and Skywarp, seemed to recognize. Jet-black armor gleamed, lights flickered in a plate set into his chest, and a ragged cloak flared behind him like jagged wings as he walked.

Soundwave tilted his head to one side. "He has power."

"Power?" Starscream repeated. He could fully believe this human was an authority figure, even if that didn't change his opinion of the insect.

"Laserbeak reports," Soundwave replied. "Lord Darth Vader: technorganic. Possesses strong telepathic and telekinetic abilities. Not to be underestimated."

So… the flashing lights on the man's chest weren't just for show. And he was much stronger than he looked. That was worth knowing. If they could perhaps make use of this fellow…

Darth Vader halted several meters from the Decepticons. Dropkick raised his liquidation cannon, but Vader raised a hand, and Dropkick wavered before lowering the gun and stepping back.

"You are Decepticons," said Vader, his voice an electronic rumble that further intrigued Starscream. "Allied to Megatron, in search of the Allspark."

Starscream rebooted his optics in surprise. "You're awfully familiar with our ways, flesh creature," he noted. "Or should I say… half-flesh creature?"

The steel mask hid Vader's features, but Starscream could practically feel the burst of fury that comment had sparked. So he hated his technorganic status, despite the fact that it elevated his status in the Decepticons' optics. That was worth knowing.

"I have my sources," Vader replied at last. "And I have potential information that could be useful to you - a means to find your leader."

Starscream's first impulse was to laugh hysterically and order Dropkick to liquify the fool. He had spent far too much time getting Megatron out of the way, misdirecting him to that ice planet to be entombed for eternity in a glacier. Why would he want this idiot's help actually finding the mech?

But Vader's words had already drawn the attention of the rest of his troops - Soundwave and Thundercracker in particular, though even Flatline, whom he had assumed was strictly loyal to Starscream himself, had perked up at the mention of their leader. They were already intrigued by this human who had practically delivered Optimus Prime into their hands, and who promised to reunite them with Megatron in exchange for… well, he wasn't sure WHAT this human wanted, though he'd be a fool to assume Vader would just lead them to Megatron without demanding something in return.

Well then… in the interest of avoiding a mutiny, Starscream would play along. And perhaps find a way to work this to his advantage. What better way to secure his leadership than to find Megatron and make absolutely sure he was dead, after all…

"Keep talking, Lord Vader," Starscream ordered, keeping his voice smooth as possible. "We're listening."


	16. The Power of the Matrix

_I can't believe they're gone._

Luke half-slumped over the holo-table in Falcon's lounge, staring at the checkered pattern of the dejarik board. It had been hours since they'd managed to flee the Death Star, yet he still felt utterly exhausted. Not just from the frantic battle and escape - it was as if the events of the past few days had finally caught up with him, sapping his energy and his will to feel anything besides a grim fog of depression.

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Optimus Prime… somehow, despite only really getting to know both figures in the past few days, he had come to see them as friends, even father figures. Obi-Wan in particular had been an unlikely but valuable guide, a wealth of information about his family and about the Force he and his father had served so faithfully over the years. Optimus, despite being a living machine and the leader of a race alien even by their galaxy's standards, had been an ally, a rescuer, a noble being he couldn't help but look up to. To have lost both of them in so short a time was a terrible blow.

A metallic hand rested on Luke's, and he glanced up to see Artoo gazing up at him. The astromech crooned worriedly, mismatched optics glittering with concern.

"I'll be all right," he lied, trying to reassure the droid. "There's not much you can do anyhow."

Artoo whimpered, then pulled himself up to sit beside Luke. He tapped the holo-table, and the holographic figures of the dejarik game materialized.

"Thanks, but I'm not in the mood for a game." He patted Artoo's helm and stood, making his way toward the cockpit. While he knew the little droid meant well, he didn't feel like a distraction would be much help.

He'd meant to duck into Falcon's cockpit and ask Han how much longer the trip would last - he wasn't sure of their destination, but trusted that Leia's coordinates were sound. But voices drifted out of the cockpit, and he realized someone was already keeping the smuggler company. Or rather, bickering with him, and surprisingly holding her own against his ego.

"I still say we got away much too easily," Leia was saying.

"You call that too easy?" Han retorted. "When the old man got himself killed and we had to leave one of the Autobots behind? If that was easy, I'd hate to see what you consider hard."

"With both Vader and those Deceptive things after us, it could have been much worse," she replied. "There's only one explanation - they're tracking us."

Luke's gut clenched at that.

"C'mon, Princess, can't you just admit I got us out of there in one piece?" Han shot back. "Or mostly, anyhow…"

" _She does have a point, Han,"_ Falcon cut in. _"The Empire's sneaky. And the Decepticons must be too, if their name's anything to go by. Maybe they ARE tracking us."_

Han's tone immediately took on a twinge of concern. "Did you feel them clip anything on your hull? Can you do some kind of scan?"

" _I don't feel anything,"_ she replied. _"But that doesn't mean they didn't plant something anyhow. Han… this doesn't feel right."_

A moment of silence as Han digested what both Leia and Falcon had told him. "All right, then, what do you ladies suggest we do now?"

" _We could stop off at some outpost on the way to Yavin,"_ Falcon suggested. _"Find the tracking device and scrape it off before we go on."_

"We don't have time for stops or detours," Leia replied. "The longer we hesitate, the more damage the Empire and its Death Star can do. We need to get Artoo back to the Rebel Alliance and download those plans from his memory banks, then scan that doom machine for some kind of weakness." She sighed deeply. "This isn't over yet."

"It is for me, your Highness," Han grumbled. "I didn't sign on for this job to join your revolution. I expect to be paid for my trouble."

" _Han!"_ Falcon squeaked - as much as that deep, rumbling voice could squeak anyhow.

"Well, you needn't worry, Han Solo," Leia replied in a clipped voice. "If money is what you love, then money is what you'll get."

"I'd better," Han retorted.

" _Han!"_ Falcon repeated. _"You can't really mean that!"_

Before Luke could hear any more of Han and Falcon's exchange, Leia stormed out of the cockpit and brushed past him. She paused and turned to regard him, expression hard with exasperation.

"Your friend there's quite the mercenary," she snapped. "I'm starting to think the only things he's capable of caring about are money and that ship of his."

" _I_ care," Luke assured her. "And Han cares too, even if he won't admit it. He's more decent than he pretends to be."

"I wish I could believe that." She walked back into the lounge and sat down at the holo-table, regarding Artoo. The astromech stared back at her, chirping softly, arms folded atop the table.

"Sorry about your droid," Luke said at last.

She shook her head. "Your Autobot friends explained to me what happened to him… but it's still so hard to believe. I know there are powerful Jedi and Sith artifacts out there, ones that can do things unheard of by modern science, but an object that can turn machines into living creatures? I'd call that ridiculous if I wasn't looking at the proof of it."

Luke nodded. "It was hard for me to believe at first too. But it exists. And both Artoo and Falcon are proof that it works."

She pressed her fingertips to her temples, groaning. "If the Empire ever gets wind that such an artifact exists, your Autobot friends won't see a minute of peace. They'll kill to get their hands on it."

Luke had a mental image of Imperial walkers, even Stardestroyers, morphing into fearsome mechanical life forms, and he shuddered. "That's why the Autobots were so intent on finding it first. To keep it out of the Empire's hands."

"They should destroy it the first chance they get," she insisted. "Otherwise it could do untold damage."

"But it's the one thing that can save their homeworld!" Luke protested. "It's the future of their kind! Without it, they'll die out!"

Her eyes darkened at that. "Of course it'd be that complicated. But I wouldn't ask an entire race to consign themselves to extinction, even if there's a risk attached." She sighed. "Still… the Allspark and how to protect it and best use it are their problems. We have our own war to fight."

Luke nodded, though privately he thought that they wouldn't be able to distance themselves from the Autobots' fight that easily. Two wars wracked this galaxy now, one between organic life forms and one between sentient machines, and all four sides had become hopelessly entangled. Both the Rebellion against the Empire and the conflict over the Allspark would have repercussions for each other, whether the parties involved liked it or not.

Artoo warbled a greeting as a tall figure made her way into the lounge, hunched low in an effort to avoid scraping her helm against the ceiling. Leia tensed, one hand straying to the gun at her side.

"It's okay," Luke assured her. "Arcee's a friend."

"I'm still not sure I trust these beings," she retorted. "You say they're friendly, but…"

"I know we haven't exactly proven ourselves to you yet," Arcee replied. "But I hope you'll at least give us the benefit of the doubt." She sat down near the holo-table, making herself as comfortable as possible - she might be the shortest of the Autobots aside from Artoo, but the passenger areas were still very cramped for her.

"How are you guys doing?" asked Luke.

"We're… coping," she said softly, her blue optics dark and troubled. "Losing Optimus Prime has been hard on us. We're split at the moment - Ironhide wants to go back and rescue him, and Sideswipe and Bumblebee are siding with him. Ratchet and Jazz say he gave himself up to save us, and that we shouldn't let his sacrifice be in vain."

Despite his somber mood, Luke couldn't suppress a slight grin. "I'm guessing it's pretty rare for Ironhide and Sideswipe to team up on anything."

"It is," Arcee replied, and though she didn't seem to smile, her optics brightened a little.

"Where do YOU side on the issue?" Leia asked.

Arcee hesitated. "I'm really not sure. On the one hand… Prime is our leader, and leaving him behind feels like treason. But on the other hand, is it worth risking the Allspark, the future of our race, to go back and save him?"

"Maybe the Rebellion can help," Luke suggested. "They can send a rescue party or-"

"The Rebel Alliance is focusing all its efforts on destroying the Death Star," Leia countered. "They're not going to have the resources to rescue Optimus."

"But we have to help him!" Luke insisted. "I - we can't lose him!"

Arcee's gaze softened as she regarded Luke. "I know you've lost a lot, Luke - far too much in too short a time. I know how it feels to lose your home and family… and yes, losing a friend and leader on top of everything else hardly seems fair. But it's just us against the Death Star… and Starscream and his cronies. There's not much we can do."

Luke clenched his fists, frustration searing through him. They were just going to abandon Prime and leave him in the Empire's clutches? Didn't either of them care?

"Believe me, we aren't making this decision lightly," Arcee said softly. "But… at the moment, it's for the best. We've lost our homeworld… we're not losing the one thing that could restore it."

Luke frowned. There was something in Arcee's tone that troubled him…

"You lost your homeworld?" Leia asked, brow furrowing.

Arcee nodded. "Our war has virtually destroyed Cybertron, our home planet. It's a dead world now, drained of energy and almost entirely abandoned. Our kind's scattered throughout the galaxy, trying to find some way to restore it."

Leia's eyes clouded with remembered grief… and sympathy. "Then we have something in common. Except that there's no way to restore Alderaan… unless…"

"I don't know if the Allspark can reforge an organic world," Arcee confessed. "And even if it could, it couldn't restore the organic life on it. It would be a… a changed world, I'm certain. One far more like our world than the one you remember."

"I figured as much," Leia admitted. "But… one could hope."

Arcee smiled a little. "Keep hoping, your Highness. Hope's a powerful thing - and sometimes it's the only thing that keeps us going."

Despite his worry and anger, Luke felt a burst of hope of his own. Seeing Leia and Arcee find common ground and forge the beginning of a friendship between them was heartening, and eased his mind about the rest of the Rebellion's possible reactions to the Autobots. The last thing he wanted was for the Alliance to open fire as soon as Arcee and her comrades disembarked from Falcon. Not to mention what kind of reaction Falcon herself would get when she finally transformed… but if one of the Rebellion's highest-ranking leaders accepted the Autobots and was friendly with them, there was hope for the rest of them as well.

And perhaps, once the Rebellion recognized that the Autobots were harmless - and could be a valuable asset to their cause - they could convince them to help rescue Optimus Prime. He could hope, at any rate. And if that was the hope he needed to keep going… then so be it.

* * *

"Extraordinary," Tarkin murmured, gazing upon Vader's prize with a covetous gleam in his eyes. "Battle droids that can take on the forms of vehicles… absolutely extraordinary. What an asset this technology can be to the Empire."

The blue TIE-fighter Decepticon - Thundercracker - glared down at the Grand Moff and hissed. "We are not mere technology, fleshbag. Don't speak of us as if we were objects."

Tarkin grimaced up at Thundercracker. "I still do not understand, Lord Vader, why we do not fit these droids with restraining bolts. It would make them much more manageable, and curb their cheek as well."

"And I don't understand why we put up with the organics, Starscream," Thundercracker retorted. "I thought you said they weren't worth dealing with."

"Shut up," Starscream snapped. "Don't question your leader again. And my dear Grand Moff, I believe we've already proven that restraining bolts don't work on my kind. Though if you insist on repeating a useless trick, by all means do so. We appreciate the entertainment."

Vader ignored the chatter between Tarkin, Starscream, and Starscream's Air Commander, keeping his gaze fixed on their Autobot captive. Optimus Prime stood against the wall of one of the Death Star's hangars, fixed in place with a multitude of thick woven-durasteel cables. He had no doubt that Prime could break his way free of said cables if he so chose… but with six Decepticons present, weapons trained on him, he assumed the mech would choose otherwise.

Prime, for his part, seemed just as content to ignore the discussion as Vader. He kept his gaze fixed on some undefined point in the distance, chin held high, as if he were a military commander leading his troops into battle and not an Imperial captive.

"We must have our scientists examine these droids as soon as possible," Tarkin went on. "If we can reverse-engineer this technology for our purposes, it could enable us to wipe out the Rebellion once and for all." His expression darkened. "It's almost worth letting Senator Organa go. Not quite, but almost."

Vader didn't turn to face Tarkin when he spoke, his gaze still fixed on the captive Autobot. "This specimen - and our alliance with the Decepticons - is worth letting the princess escape. And even that has its advantages. She is free… but she will also lead us directly to the Alliance."

Tarkin scowled. "That's a risky plan… but if it succeeds, it will be worthwhile. As for your alliance… you can't honestly believe these droids are sentient, can you?"

"I know, kind of unbelievable, right?" the black TIE-fighter Decepticon noted, mandibles twisting into an expression that might have been a grin. "It's almost as hard to believe as a skinbag full of water and grease and calcium deposits being sentient, huh?"

"Skywarp, can you NOT make smart remarks for five astroseconds?" demanded a silver mech whose stubby wings suggested an I-7 Howlrunner.

"What, just stating a fact," he muttered. "What crawled up YOUR exhaust and died, Blackout?"

Starscream lunged out to cuff the black mech over the helm. Skywarp growled and raised his own hand to strike back, but Thundercracker's claws on his arm stayed the blow, and he subsided with a grumble.

Tarkin grimaced. "I go a long way in tolerating your delusions, Lord Vader - your obsession with the Jedi, your sad devotion to that ancient religion, your slinking around this space station like you own it… But this is absurd even by your standards."

Had it been any other Imperial, officer or not, who addressed him in such a fashion, they would quickly find themselves unable to speak or even breathe. But Tarkin was currently under Palpatine's protection, his current pet politician who could do as he pleased provided he didn't fail the Emperor in too spectacular a fashion. Vader would put up with his snark… for now.

"The Decepticons hold the key to destroying the Rebel Alliance once and for all," he replied. "And they will be treated as allies, not as objects. Save our prisoner… but even he is more useful to us alive than dissected."

Starscream turned to glower at Vader, shutters sliding over his optics to mimic a suspicious squint, but he said nothing.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Lord Vader," Tarkin replied balefully, and stalked out of the hangar.

Starscream hissed softly. "Prime's only worth something to us dead. Kill him now before his precious Autobots get it into their heads to come back and rescue him. Your friend seems so intent on dissecting him to learn his technological secrets - let him."

"No," Vader replied. "We keep him alive. He will be a useful bargaining chip in negotiating an alliance with Megatron."

Starscream's optics flashed at that, but he didn't speak his obvious anger at that statement. "Very well, then… that WAS part of our agreement. You help us find our beloved leader and the Allspark, we help you wipe out this pesky Alliance and… other obstacles."

Vader nodded. He didn't mention that he had other plans for their captive besides bargaining - he wanted to unravel the mystery behind a mechanical life form that bore an affinity to the Force first.

Laserbeak ruffled his plating from his perch on a blue satellite-former's shoulder. "When are we going to Coruscant to search for him? You said information on Project Frozen Steel would be there. The longer we delay, the closer those Autobots get to doing something drastic."

"We depart at 0600 hours," Vader replied. "The Death Star will proceed to the Rebel Base in the meantime. You will have your leader soon enough." He made a dismissive gesture. "Leave us. I wish to interrogate the prisoner alone."

A black hovercar-former barked out a snarling laugh. "Like we trust you enough to leave you alone to plot with the Prime."

"Enough out of you, Barricade," Starscream snapped. "By all means, let Vader have his privacy. I'm sure a GOOD ally will tell us whatever he's learned from OUR prisoner… right?"

Vader didn't have to be Force-sensitive to read the unspoken threat in that statement. But he merely nodded at the shuttle-former. "I will share anything useful gained from the interrogation."

"You see?" He gestured to the other side of the hangar, where the Decepticons had begun to set up the makings of temporary headquarters. "Come, my soldiers… we have much to plan, and little time in which to do it."

The mechs grumbled amongst themselves but stalked off… save Thundercracker, who lagged behind. Once he judged Starscream to be a safe distance away, he stooped slightly to talk to Vader.

"A word of advice - don't trust Starscream," he murmured. "At all. He'll stab you in the back the moment he thinks you're no longer useful."

Vader had already sensed the mech had a treacherous streak… and he was a man who was no stranger to the games politicians and officers played amongst themselves. But he nodded his thanks to the blue mech anyhow. Forewarned was forearmed, and he would watch his new ally closely from this moment forward.

Only when Thundercracker had finally left did Prime finally seem to return to his senses. His optics focused, then moved down to gaze at Vader. There was no anger there, no fear - only a thoughtful expression, as if he were hosting the cyborg as a guest instead of languishing as his prisoner.

"You play a dangerous game," Prime rumbled, his voice calm and deep. "Decepticons as a rule are as trustworthy as their name suggests, but Starscream is notoriously deceitful even for their kind. Break it off while you still have a chance."

Was everyone going to warn Vader against this alliance? No matter - he would show them he knew how to make a dangerous truce work to his advantage. "You are hardly in a position to be giving advice, Optimus Prime. I have questions for you, and you will cooperate… or I let Starscream and his cronies do as they will with you."

Prime regarded him for a long moment. Then, incredibly, a slight smile played across his metallic features.

"I don't think you will," he replied. "For whatever reason, you've decided I'm a valuable resource. You won't hand me over to the Decepticons so long as you think I can be useful to you."

"Your usefulness will be determined by how well you cooperate," Vader countered. "You are strong in the Force, and I intend to find out why. An artificial being should not possess the Force in any capacity, yet your kind live within the framework of the Living Force… and your presence is entwined with the Unifying Force as well. You are a puzzle… one I will take great pleasure in finding the solution to."

Prime's smile faded into a thoughtful frown. "I only know fragments about this 'Force' you speak of, and those only from what I overheard from Obi-Wan Kenobi before his untimely-"

"Do NOT mention that name again," Vader thundered, and despite his attempt to control it a wave of power rippled away from him in a shockwave crackling with anger.

"I see," Prime murmured. He seemed about to say something, but processed it for a moment and elected to shift to another topic. "We know little of this Force you speak of, though there are telepaths and other paranormal abilities among our kind. As for the Living Force… we live, as impossible as it may seem to your kind. Each of us is possessed of an energy that gives us sentience and life - a spark, we call it, though your equivalent seems to be a soul. It is this spark that sets us apart from your common machines - your droids that can imitate life to a clever degree, but not truly possess it. Save one… and only because he was touched by the Allspark."

The Allspark… the Decepticons had mentioned it as a valuable artifact, though Starscream was reluctant to describe it in great detail. But if this Allspark was powerful enough to ignite a war over its ownership, then it was powerful enough to spark the Empire's interest.

"Tell me about this Allspark."

Prime lifted his chin and gazed off into the distance again. "It is far away, and will soon be securely hidden. Do not chase after it. It will only bring ruin upon your kind."

"Tell me," he repeated, and pressed with the Force at Prime's mind.

He wasn't surprised to encounter resistance… but it was the sheer power behind that resistance that startled him. Leia had put up a surprising block against his mind probe as well, but that had been the untried strength of a single being. Prime's shield felt like a wall of energy made up of the presence of a thousand minds and souls - or sparks, as it were - as if this mech contained legions within his body instead of a single presence. And the longer Vader pressed against that wall, the more those legions pressed back, until they threatened to consume him…

Something _shoved_ Vader's presence out of Prime's mind at that moment, and he staggered back. He refocused his vision to find Prime staring at him, optics aglow… but with surprising concern instead of anger.

"Are you all right?"

Vader nearly answered, then checked himself. Who was this Prime to show concern over his captor's state anyhow? "What… was that?"

"The Matrix," Prime replied. "It contains the wisdom of every Prime before me. It… can be overwhelming for the untried mind to encounter. And no organic has ever made contact with it and lived to tell about it. You took a huge risk there."

So… this Optimus Prime wasn't naturally Force-sensitive. He merely possessed another artifact, one possibly more powerful than the Allspark. What was it with these machines and their mysterious devices? No matter - Prime had just inadvertently revealed the source of his strength, and if he could just get his hands on it…

"I wouldn't suggest removing it if I were you," Prime told him, as if picking up on his thoughts. "The Matrix is meant to only be held by a Prime. It could be dangerous, even fatal, for another Cybertronian to take it up… and there's no telling what might become of a human who tried to possess it."

"Then we find ways to make use of it without removing it," Vader replied. "Be honored, Optimus Prime - you have just become the most valuable prisoner in the Empire."

Prime gave him a long, even look… then, incredibly, he smiled. "I should hate you for what you've done and are doing, Darth Vader - and I won't lie, I am angry that you attacked my troops and killed one of our human allies. But I sense we have more in common than meets the eye - a kinship, if you will. And that fascinates me."

Vader curled his lip behind his mask. "I have nothing in common with you."

"Don't be so sure about that." His smile softened a little. "And I don't simply mean a physical similarity - though there is no shame in being a technorganic, no matter what either of our kinds may say about it. Perhaps we can learn from each other."

Vader was spare an angry rebuttal by Laserbeak's shrill cry, and the mechanical hawk-bat landed on a stack of crates nearby.

"Frenzy reports!" he hissed. "That blasted Falcon and your precious princess are on a hyperspace route leading to the Yavin system!"

Vader nodded. The Decepticons had proven their worth already. "Tell Starscream to prepare his troops to move out. I will alert Tarkin to this development, and the Death Star will set its course for the Yavin system immediately."

Laserbeak chittered with macabre glee. "Too bad we won't be around to watch the destruction. It'd be satisfying to see it melt down and take the Autobots to the Pit with it." And he flapped off.

Vader strode away from the captive Prime, making for the hangar exit. Soon, very soon, the Rebel base would be destroyed. It wouldn't spell the end of the conflict with the Rebel Alliance - if they were smart, they would have cells and bases scattered throughout the galaxy, and it could take years to track down and destroy them all. But it would secure the Empire's grip on the galaxy and send a message once and for all that resistance was pointless. And it would be another step in taking the Empire for himself.

He didn't see Prime's worried expression, nor the Autobot commander's optics go dim as his gaze fixed on something far beyond his field of vision...


End file.
